


don't blink

by imperialstark



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Avengers Family, Avengers Feels, Avengers Tower, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, But don't worry I fix it, But like in the best way possible, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canonical Character Death, Comic Book Science, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, MCU Rewrite, Nightmares, POV Alternating, Panic Attacks, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pining, Pining Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is a little shit, Therapy, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialstark/pseuds/imperialstark
Summary: They said absolute power corrupted absolutely. Others were of the mind that those who were corrupt often had absolute power. For five seconds, Steve Rogers was going to be the most powerful man in the entire universe. He wasn’t sure of which camp he fell into.When Steve Rogers is offered the mission to return the Infinity Stones back to their original points in the timeline, he accepts with no questions asked. Steve successfully manages to return all of the stones. All except for one. With his body deteriorating from the affects of extended time travel, Steve has no choice but to resort to whatever it takes to stay alive.Now blessed with a second chance at life, Steve has only one mission left. Fix everything or be doomed to watch it fall to pieces once more.





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> So I, like the rest of y'all, saw Endgame in April and let me tell you I have Thoughts. This fic is the result of those Thoughts. I don't own Marvel, but if I did, I would have had it go a little something like this. Hold onto your butts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve returns the stones.

They said absolute power corrupted absolutely. Others were of the mind that those who were corrupt often had absolute power. For five seconds, Steve Rogers was going to be the most powerful man in the entire universe. He wasn’t sure of which camp he fell into.

The suitcase felt surprisingly light in his hand despite carrying six Infinity Stones. He didn't know what to expect, really, but with a name like “Infinity Stone” Steve thought the case should have felt...heavy. Important. Like it should have equaled the mental weight of having the fate of the universe in one's own hands. It felt like holding air.

With Mjolnir in one hand and the briefcase in the other, Steve looked out towards the horizon while Bruce fiddled with the time machine. The sun had reached its peak since the early morning, casting sunspots across the tranquil surface of the lake. Steve's sense heightened ears picked up the noise of nature; birdsong, and chattering and squeaking, all sounds that had sorely been missed in the past five years. In the back of his mind, he remembered a conversation that had happened so long ago he had nearly forgotten about it.

It had been a day like this one, so beautiful and peaceful you could almost forget the blood and sweat and torment that came before it. And Tony...Tony had been alive. In the physical sense, anyway. Steve remembered how hollow Tony's eyes had looked that day, could almost see his metaphorical demons hovering over his shoulders. Steve remembered thinking that the light in his eyes had dimmed.

“Think I might take a page out of Barton's book. Settle down and build Pepper a farm,” Tony had said with a false grin.

Steve had thought it was another one of Tony's jokes. The thought of a man like Tony Stark, with the life and energy of a burning star, _settling_ , was ridiculous. No, in Steve's eyes, Tony was a comet; set ablaze and always on the move. Nothing short of an immovable object could stop Tony Stark from doing what he wanted. Nothing except death.

If Steve closed his eyes he could pretend. He could pretend that the boat they had pushed off the shore didn't carry a body, that the taste of dust and ash still didn't coat his tongue, that Tony was _alive_ and making fun of him for something, _anything_ , just as long as he was alive—

“Steve.”

Bruce's voice jolted him out of his thoughts. They were ready for him. Bucky and Sam stood off to the side, looking at him with concerned eyes.

"Remember, you have to return the stones at the exact moment you got them," Bruce said. "Or you're gonna open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities." His green visage still took some getting used to. It was startling to hear full, comprehensible sentences come out of the Hulk's mouth but Bruce finally seemed at ease with himself and really, that's all Steve could ask for him. That's all he could ask for any of his teammates. For them to have peace.

"I just want peace," Tony had said when he had given him his shield. "Turns out resentment is corrosive."

Tony had wanted peace and had only gotten it when the light had faded from his eyes completely.

"Don't worry, Bruce." Steve knew the mission like the back of his hand. Return the stones. Don't get caught. Haul ass back to the present. What did it say about him that _this_ wasn't the most dangerous mission he had carried out? Returning the stones should have been easier than retrieving them in the first place.

"You know, I tried." The words were quiet, almost too low for even Steve's enhanced ears to hear. "When I had the gauntlet…the stones, I  really tried to bring her back."

Steve didn't want to think about Natasha or Tony or any of the other countless lives that had been lost, yet the memory overpowered him anyway. Steve's mind was standing in the smoldering wreckage of the Compound, of his _home_ , both the bodies of enemies and allies littering the battle ground. Exhaustion tried to goad him into dropping the shield, into letting go of Mjolnir and _resting_. He had pushed his muscles to their limit, his nerves crying out in protest at every punch, kick, and thrashing movement. But he had to keep _going_. For Natasha, for Bucky, for Tony, for every single person he had let down over the years. But then, like a miracle from God themself, Thanos and his legions had started to crumble, blowing away like dust on the wind. Hope had soared in his chest only to be fucking obliterated as soon as he had realized _how_ they had won.

He had stood back like a coward as Tony had taken his dying breath, a litany of _we lost we lost we lost_ , wanting to come tumbling forth from his lips.

"I miss them, man," Bruce said.

"Me, too," he replied and really, what else was there to say?

Sam stepped forward. "You know if you want, I can come with you." The utter sincerity in Sam's eyes nearly made him choke up. Waking up in an entirely new century was enough to drive anyone crazy, but having a friend like Sam, who had always been there for him, who had fought by his side, no questions asked, Steve was thankful for every day he spent with the man.

"You're a good man, Sam. This one's on me, though."  And it was. Steve was tired of others dying for his sake. Sam gave him one last searching look before nodding and stepping back.

And that left Bucky. Somehow, someway, it always boiled down to Bucky.

Giving him a once over, Steve decided that he looked good. Dissolving into dust aside, the past few years Bucky had spent just living his life in Wakanda had done him some good. Gone was the emaciated look to his face that even Zola's version of the serum couldn't hide. Although diminished in appearance, Steve could still see the bags under his eyes, though. Perhaps they would always be there.

"Don't do anything stupid 'till I get back," Steve said, the words coming easily to him.

Bucky smiled, a small but sure thing, repeating the familiar words they had said to each other nearly a lifetime ago. "How can I? You're taking all the stupid with you."

Steve pulled him into a hug, burrowing his face into Bucky's long hair.

"Gonna miss you, buddy," Bucky said softly, his voice hoarse.

"It's gonna be okay, Buck," he murmured, squeezing Bucky tightly.

All too soon, they let go of each other, Bucky going to stand by Sam's side and _oh_ , that was new. They stood nearly shoulder to shoulder, their fingers just nearly brushing each other. _Well_ , he couldn't help thinking, _that explained the bickering_.

"How long is this gonna take?" Sam asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

"For him? As long as he needs. For us, five seconds."

Five seconds. For five seconds, he would be the most powerful man in the universe. For five seconds, he considered being selfish.

 _It'd just be five seconds,_ an annoyingly tempting voice spoke in the back of his mind. _Five seconds in exchange for a lifetime_. But Steve Rogers was a good man. So he would complete the mission, return to the 21st century, and try to move on from there.

"Ready Cap?" Bruce said.

Steve nodded and briefly set the suitcase down to activate the quantum realm suit.

"Alright. We'll meet you back here, okay?"

"You bet," he replied, his voice muffled by the helmet obscuring his face.

"Going quantum. Three...two...one."

With the flick of a switch, Steve Rogers disappeared from time altogether.

* * *

 Time travel never got easier. But considering the fact that they were literally bending the laws of physics to their will, Steve guessed it wasn’t _supposed_ to feel good either. Space and time tossed his body about like a leaf blowing carelessly through the wind. Dying stars and distant planets soared past him in bursts of color and sound. He was dying or being reborn or both, life and death tossing a coin in the air to choose. Steve activated the time bracelet and braced himself for impact. He landed deftly, the impact of his feet against the stone shocking his toes and jolting through his legs. He had made it to Vormir.

Returning the Aether had been harder than he had expected. Nobody had told him he had needed to inject the stone back into Jane, and the look of surprise on both their faces at the realization would have been hysterical under literally any other circumstances. Putting the Power stone back into the orb had been easier. He had arrived just as Quill, had landed on the storm battered rock that was Morag singing along (badly) and dancing to his music. In a way the man had reminded him of Tony, and what little amusement he had experienced died just that quickly.

But Asgard had been beautiful and Morag, mysterious and Vormir…Vormir was _death_. The stench of it threatened to choke him, the scent of rotting earth and decaying bodies and blood, so much blood. As he crept across the rock, looking for steady ground, he swore he could hear screaming in the distance. _Hell_ , he thought, _this is hell_. The mists permeating the land seemed to part for him as he made his way up the summit of a cliff. Two towering pillars of rock interrupted the otherwise monotonous horizon he had grown accustomed to and Steve knew deep in his soul that this is where Natasha had died. The urge to breakdown and sob hit him with a quickness and he came to a stop. He wanted to fling the briefcase off that very same cliff or crush all of the stones in his fists for taking everything and everyone away from him.

Natasha had been one of Steve’s first friends in this strange new world. While others had spoken to him like they were walking on eggshells, like they didn’t want to set him off, Natasha had pushed him. She had made references she knew he wouldn’t understand so he’d look them up later and got him to cut his hair and took him to buy new clothes and he _missed_ her.

“Steven…son of Joseph.”

Steve froze. That voice…it’d been so long since he had heard that _voice_.

“I must admit, I am surprised that _you_ of all people have come in search of the Soul Stone.”

“What is this?” he heard himself saying.

“Consider me a guide, Steven.” Steve took in the awful, yet familiar gaunt crimson skull of Johann Schmidt shrouded in tattered robes and felt a hysterical laugh building inside of him. Of all the people he had met, loved, and hated, Red _fucking_ Skull was the one still kicking. That was just his luck.

“If you seek the Soul Stone,” Red _fucking_ Skull continued, “it is too late. It has already been acquired.”

Steve felt a chill go down his spine. Natasha had just…she had just…

Red Skull eyed the suitcase and said, “Although, it seems as if it is already in your possession.” Steve’s grip tightened on it until he was sure the handle was going to crumple into dust in his fist.

“Tell me, how do four Infinity Stones end up in the custody of Captain America, himself?”

“None of your goddamn business, that’s how.”

Red Skull chuckled. “I see the years have done nothing for your language. Very well, Steven. I yield. Do what you have come to do, and you shall be free to go.”

“And why should I trust a word that comes out of your mouth?”

The Red Skull smiled, a grim, bitter thing. “Do you think I would still be here if I could lie, Steven?”

“How do I return the stone?” Steve said flatly.

“To take the stone, one must give up a soul. To return the stone, one must face a soul.”

It _sounded_ straightforward, yet Steve still turned over the words in his head, looking for any possible angle, any trick the Red Skull could have been pulling and came up empty. He _had_ to be telling the truth meaning that he had no choice but to listen to the Red Skull.

Slowly, Steve opened the briefcase. The stones glowed vibrantly within their case. Such tiny, beautiful objects and yet they had caused so much death and destruction. Steve hated the mere sight of them. Meanwhile the Red Skull’s gaze focused in on the stones, a deep longing making itself known in his face. Steve held the briefcase closer to himself.

He stepped closer to the edge of the cliff, standing in between the two pillars and held his breath. Every fiber in his being was telling him to look down but Steve couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to look down and see Natasha’s body lying prone and broken like a puppet who’s strings had been cut.

Reaching into the case, Steve grabbed the Soul Stone and let it go just as quickly. Instead of dropping to the ground, the stone hovered in the air, glowing a brilliant orange. The shimmering light grew brighter and brighter, engulfing everything in its path until Steve’s eyes burned from its intensity.

When he opened his eyes once more, he was sitting in a shallow pool of water. The briefcase was still in his hands. Opening the case, Steve counted three stones and breathed a sigh of relief. Looking more closely at his surroundings, he realized that Vormir had disappeared completely. Good. He couldn’t exactly say that he’d miss the godforsaken planet. The real question was, where the hell was he _now_?

“Hey, Winghead.”

His head jerked to the side, trying to find the source of the voice.

“Other side, Rogers.”

He didn’t want to look. Because if he looked, and Natasha wasn’t there, Steve wasn’t sure what he would do with himself.

“Steven Grant Rogers, if your star-spangled ass doesn’t look at me right now.”

Turning to the left, Natasha looking a vision in white, her red-and-blonde hair hanging loosely around her shoulders, gave him a beatific smile and Steve’s heart _hurt_ at the sight.

“You look…happy,” he murmured.

“I’m at peace, Cap.”

There was that word again. Peace. Maybe one day Steve would _finally_ know what it meant.

“You look like shit.”

Steve chuckled, blinking back the wetness in his eyes. “Yeah, I feel that way too.”

“We won, Steve,” she said. Natasha placed a hand on his shoulder and it felt so _real_ but Steve knew somehow, that this wasn’t real. Not in the physical sense. Natasha was truly dead.

“Did we, Nat? Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.”

“We did. There were losses, yes. There’s always losses, Steve. But you look past them. You move on. You find peace for yourself.”

“But we lost _you_ ,” Steve said, his voice cracking at the end. “We lost you and Tony and—”

Natasha cut him off. “We knew what we were doing when we did it. It was our _choice_. I don’t like seeing you like this. _Tony_   wouldn’t want to see you like this.”

“…Nat, I don’t think Tony would want to see me, period,” he said softly. “In the end, I…I never got to make things right. He hated me.”

“He loved you,” she murmured, her voice softer than he had ever heard it. “He always loved you, even when you fought. And trust me, I would know.”

 _He loved you_. _He loved you even when you fought_. The words rang in his ears and Steve felt a hollowness inside him. He was always _late_. He was the man out of time with all of the time in the world now and he was still _late_.

“It’s almost time for you to go,” Natasha said. Her form was beginning to blur at the edges but he didn’t want her to go. He didn’t want to let go.

“You have to let us go,” she whispered. “Let us go or you’ll never find peace, Steve.”

Steve wanted to find peace. He wanted to find peace and rest like the rest of them.

He pulled Natasha into one last hug, feeling the solid weight of her body against his, burying his face into her neck. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll see you again. Hopefully, not too soon.” He could feel her form fading until his arms were cradling nothing but air. When he opened his eyes, she was gone.

* * *

Steve didn’t think he could go on. The mission had taken an emotional toll on him that he couldn’t even begin to describe. Going back, seeing all of the people whose lives had been damn near ruined by the stones and not being able to do _anything_ to help them was tearing him up inside. On Vormir he had wanted to grab onto Natasha and hop back to their original timeline, mission be damned. Only the thought of the remaining stones being left in Skull’s possession stayed his hand.

The Tesseract was next. He _hated_ the damn thing and if it were up to him, he would have willed it out of existence entirely. And the thought of going back to the 70s without Tony by his side…it filled him with more dread than he cared to admit.

And at the back of his mind, Steve had a niggling thought that the mission was also starting to take a physical toll on him as well. His movements were slow and sluggish and he felt the beginnings of a migraine building in his temples which shouldn’t have even been _possible_. No matter what was happening to him though, he had no choice but to carry on.

Steve was all too happy to leave Vormir and the Red Skull behind, but every part of him cried out in protest at the thought of leaving Natasha behind on such a dreary, hopeless place. _She deserved better_ , he thought bitterly.

* * *

_5.29.1947_. 

 _Tony_ _’s birthday_ , he thought idly. _Or it will be_.

It was the peak of spring. There was a restlessness to the air, as if every person on earth was collectively holding their breath for the start of summer. Tree leaves swayed back in forth in the gentle May breeze, bringing with them the scent of flower buds and Maple tree sap. It was the kind of day that made you want to leave the house and venture out into the world.

By all means, Steve should been at ease. And yet he felt…lost. Like he had been working on a puzzle only to find a piece that didn’t match the rest of the set.

 _This could have been mine_. _This day could have been mine_.

Returning the Tesseract had been easy enough, yet it left him feeling hollow, reeling from both his past and present—future?—colliding. With every step around the base, he kept on expecting to see Tony in his scientist getup right behind him, some inane, yet amusing quip or another on the tip of his tongue. He also saw Peggy everywhere he went; a flash of crimson lips here, a swish of perfectly curled brunette hair there. He had lingered once more, right outside her office—and he was so _proud_ of her, she had her own office, she had authority like she _deserved_ —and wished that she would look at him if just for a moment.

Then he realized he _did_ have a moment.

He supposed stealing more Pym Particles from Hank should have made him feel at least a _little_ guilty, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Bruce’s words echoed in his mind. It would only be five seconds. Blink and you’d miss it.

And Natasha…Natasha had wanted him to let them go. To let _her_ go. “Let us go, or you’ll never find peace,” she had said, her eyes shining bright with earnestness.

Peggy had drawn a pistol on him as soon as she saw his face and he wouldn’t have expected any less from her. It took some time before she finally lowered the pistol she had aimed square between his eyes. Then she slapped him with enough force to the point where if he had been a normal man, his head would have jerked to the side. When he had caught her gaze once more, her chocolate eyes had gone glassy with unshed tears.

“You’re late,” she had said, her voice breaking at the end.

“I got a little held up,” he had replied softly, taking in the sight of her.

She was still beautiful. But then again, Steve was biased. Even when she had been lying in a hospice bed, her hair long gone gray, he had still thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen in his lifetime. Her hair was longer, although her signature curls were still in place. Her lips were as plump as ever and done up in that lovely red hue he had come to associate with her. She was dressed in a pretty, yet functional navy blue dress with a white collar. _Beautiful_. _Absolutely beautiful_.

Peggy had listened intently as he explained himself as well as he could.

When he told her about Bucky the tears had finally fallen until they were both openly crying, clinging to one another like they were all each other had. He wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to tell her about Tony and Natasha and the rest of the Avengers and he guessed that included all of the new members they had collected along the way. Steve had _lived_ through it and even _he_ still had trouble rationalizing real life _aliens_ and _sorcerers_ and men who shrunk down to microscopic size. It sounded like something out of those comic books that used to stand outside newsstands that he and Buck used to spend their Sunday School money on. They had all had wacky titles like _Tales of Suspense #30: The Haunted Roller Coaster!_ He remembered reading them and being amused, what kid wouldn’t be? But Bucky had been the one who had really been into them and all things science fiction. Now _they_ were the subject of far out comic books.

He had the feeling that she knew he was holding back, nothing got past her after all, but she didn’t needle him about it either.

Instead, she had put on a record, held out her hand, and asked him to dance. And what could Steve do but say yes?

As they swayed together, the dulcet tones of the jazzy record wrapping around them, Peggy leaning into him, Steve could almost pretend that this was his life. That he had never let Bucky fall. That he had defeated the Red Skull before they both could even step foot on the _Valkyrie_. That they were at _home_.

A stray tear trailed down his cheek and as Peggy tilted her head up to kiss him, he could taste salt and a hint of something sweet. Something that reminded him of honey.

He contemplated staying and trying some of the life Tony had been telling him to get. But it wouldn’t be _his_ life. He’d be stealing the life of an innocent man and leaving him to God knew what kind of fate. In his timeline, Peggy had been happy. She had lived a long, fulfilling life that included marrying a man that _wasn_ _’t_ him and having kids that _weren_ _’t_ his and he knew in his heart of hearts that he couldn’t take that from her. Not when he knew how much good she was going to do during her life.

"I have to go," he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers.

"I just got you back," she said softly.

“I know, I know,” he replied. “But I can’t stay. Not forever.”

“I know,” she repeated with a sigh. “Just one more dance? You certainly owe me more than one given how long you’ve made me wait, Captain Rogers,” she sniffed.

A chuckle escaped him. God, he had missed her. _“_ One more dance,” he acquiesced. And if one more dance turned into two, then three, then four, well it was nobody’s business but theirs in the end, really.

* * *

Looking back on it, 2012 had been the birth of something new. The birth of something _great_.

They had had their faults, sure, but when it truly mattered, he and the other original Avengers had worked together so seamlessly during the Battle of New York. They had played off of each others strengths, had used their intuition to take out as many Chitauri as possible. He remembered as they had circled up for that very first time, that he hadn’t felt more alive since before the ice. For a moment, the tension and petty arguments on the Helicarrier had been swept to the side, and they had been a _team_.

 _We were so young_. _And we wasted it_.

Steve was ready to finally end it. He had two stones left to go and then he could finally go home. But where was home? In the 30s, home had been a cramped little one bedroom apartment he had shared with Bucky in the middle of Brooklyn. Then, in a second so brief that if you blinked, you’d miss it, home had been Peggy and a three bedroom house with a white picket fence. After the ice, he hadn’t had a home. That sad little SHIELD issued apartment hadn’t been a home to him. Not until 2012. Then his home had been the Avengers. It had been the Tower and the Compound. It had been Tony shuffling into the kitchen with wild hair and sleepy eyes grasping around for coffee. It had been Natasha’s secretive little smile like she knew something about all of them that they didn’t. It had been Thor’s booming laugh, one arm strewn across Steve’s shoulders and the scent of Bruce’s chicken curry permeating the community kitchen and Clint snarking back and forth with Tony with a shit-eating grin on his face.

And now his home was nowhere to be found. It had been completely and utterly decimated and putting it back together would be like trying to fit a million shards of glass back into a picture frame.

Returning to 2012 had done nothing but sadden him and he was ready to just hurl the remaining stones as far from himself as he could and go…somewhere. Anywhere but here. The time bracelet had made him reappear mere seconds after he had battled himself the first time around for the staff and Steve wanted nothing more than to slap his younger self and tell him to pull himself together.

“Don’t waste it,” he wanted to say. “Don’t waste your time here. Don’t blink. You’ll miss it.”

He wasn’t sure if it was the extended trips through time or being in such close proximity to a younger version of himself, but with every step he took towards his younger self, Loki’s scepter in hand, he felt a skull-crushing pain in his head, like someone was slowly screwing needles into his brain. Gritting through the pain, Steve carried on, placing the scepter in his younger body’s hands before dragging him off to a nearby closet, away from prying eyes. He’d probably awake with a hell of a headache but at least the scepter would be safe. All that was left was the Time Stone.

As Steve made his way to the Sanctum Sanctorum, the pain in his head began to subside to a dull ache versus the throbbing roar it had been before. He followed the directions Bruce had given him as closely as possible and soon found himself outside the front of a three story building that had somehow sustained no damage from the battle. Bruce had told him to look out for an ornate townhouse with a copper-green roof and a dome window with a strange sign emblazoned upon it. This had to be the right one.

Stepping past a stray Chitauri body, Steve mounted the steps of the building ready to knock when the door opened on its own.

That was…odd, but Bruce had told him the sorcerers had a flair for the dramatics. The inside of the building was done up in dark wood accents, ancient magical artifacts lining every wall. Steve wasn’t sure if magic had a distinct flavor, but he could sense _something_ that left a metallic taste in his mouth.

He followed the staircase in the main foyer up, up, up until he reached the roof. A tall bald woman dressed in yellow robes was waiting for him.

“Captain Rogers?” she began, arching a brow. “I was expecting the green one.”

“We needed Bruce to operate the machine, ma’am,” he said, extending the briefcase to her. “The Time Stone.” His hand trembled as he opened the case.

She eyed the stone with mild interest before focusing in on his trembling hand. “Thank you, Captain,” she said.

Steve held back a shiver. He didn’t like the way she looked at him, like she could see _through_ him.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked like she already knew the answer. “Had any headaches lately? Slowing of movement?”

“I…I—”

“What you and your friends did was very dangerous.”

“We _knew_ that, ma’am, but it still needed to be done—”

“And your body is suffering the consequences. There is a _reason_ the Time Stone should seldom be used. I assume whatever device you created operates under the same rules.”

The headache was building again. His hands flew to his temples, briefcase falling to the ground, forgotten. Steve fell to his knees, clutching at his skull. Something was burrowing _inside_ and he wanted it out out out—

“Captain,” the woman was kneeling next to him now, placing her gentle hands upon his shoulders. “I can fix this if you will let me.”

“How,” he gasped, “how?”

“The stone. I need the stone.”

Steve scrambled towards the case, his hands fumbling over the latches that had snapped back shut, and tugged at the stone. He ignored the searing pain racing through his hands and pulled until the stone finally came free. The woman grabbed the stone from his hands and placed it in the necklace around her neck.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” she said genuinely. “Nothing about this process will feel good.”

Steve didn’t care at this point, he just need the pain to _stop_. “Just do it!”

Her hands moved too fast for his eyes to track, or maybe his vision was failing, the _serum_ was failing. He was dying, he was dying, he was dying—

She completed the movement with a one-two combination, one of her palms against his chest, the other against his forehead.

At first, he felt nothing, like he had been severed from his body completely. Then someone started screaming.

His vision blurred at the edges as he realized the agonized screaming was coming from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, if God be willing, I think I'll try to update every Sunday but that's not a concrete guarantee. Y'all know the drill. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated. Thanks for taking the time to read my fic and come with me on what I'm sure is gonna be a wild ride! Follow me on [tumblr](https://www.imperialstark.tumblr.com) for more stony/marvel content!


	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve has more questions than answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I do not own Marvel or anything associated with it but if I did, this is what I'd do. Be prepared for (bad) comic book science/magic.

Darkness greeted him. He could only make out vague shapes, mere outlines of objects, wherever he was.

“My head,” he groaned, his voice all raspy as if he had smoked three packs a day since birth. One hand cupped his forehead. The last vestiges of the migraine were making themselves known in little pangs every now and then. Hopefully, it would be gone soon. The serum would—

The serum. He remembered now. He had been talking to the sorcerer in the yellow robes, trying his best to ignore the pain that had slowly been consuming him, when as soon as she mentioned it, it was like his migraine had intensified tenfold. And the serum had done _nothing_.

Was he dead? Had a migraine done what countless villains hadn’t manage to do in Steve’s 105 years of life? But that was no normal migraine. No migraine would send a super-soldier to his knees, clutching his head in utter agony. The sorcerer. The sorcerer had said _something_ about the Time Stone but for the life of him he couldn’t remember. He just remembered the pain. And her kneeling beside him. And then the darkness came.

And now he was…where was he? He blinked, willing his eyes to adjust to the lack of light until he could make out…a bucket? He blinked again. That was most definitely a bucket. An old mop was leaning next to it. Something was digging into his back and with a shock, Steve realized he was slumped over in…a closet. A scarily familiar closet. Faintly, he could make out the sharp, sickly sweet scent of bleach and other various household cleaners.

Steve had an awful, nauseating feeling that if he were to reach out to the left of him, his hands would come into contact with the hilt of Loki’s scepter.

Panic like no other seized him and before he knew it, he was barreling out of the closet, barely registering the recognizable, unrelenting pain of sore muscles coursing through his body, and stumbled out onto the bridge-way where he had fought himself. His head whirled around wildly looking for some sign, _any_ sign of another body clad in his uniform. All he saw before him was the wreckage of the earlier fight; shattered glass and metal and stray traces of blood.

Horror trickled over him and Steve’s body tensed as if someone had poured ice water down his back. There was _no body_. Oh, God. Oh, _God_. Was he being punished? That’s what this was, wasn’t it?

His mind went back to his earlier thought. Maybe he was dead and this was Hell and he was going to be forced to watch everyone he loved die over, and over, and _over_ —

“Captain, are you alright?” Not for the first time that day, one Natasha Romanoff caught him off guard, approaching him with slow steps.

Steve’s breath caught in his throat. If this was Hell, then God was _cruel_. Natasha looked so _alive_. Still bloodied and filthy from the battle, yet alive in a way the shade on Vormir hadn’t even come close to.

Somehow, Steve found the nerve to speak to her without breaking down crying. He wasn’t sure if this was Hell or Heaven or something _else_ that his brain didn’t even want to consider at the moment. Until he figured out what the hell was going on, he was going to proceed as he would normally. Normal. As if anything in his life was something as mundane and boring as _normal_.

“I’m fine, Na…Miss Romanoff.” God, he forgot he hadn’t started calling her Nat until after they had started going on missions together. He had been so _stuffy_ in 2012.

“And Loki?” she inquired, glancing around cautiously with one hand at the gun on her waist, as if he were going to pop out ready to stab them at a moment’s notice.

“I lost him, ma’am. He was trying to make a quick escape. Didn’t even go for the scepter.” After spending so many years around spies and assassins, the lies came more easily to him than they had ever had.

Natasha arched a brow. “And the scepter, where is it now?”

“I managed to wrestle it away from Loki before he disappeared.” Steve strode towards the closet, praying that his suspicion was right. He felt around blindly before his hands curled around the staff of the scepter.

He held out the scepter to her. Natasha nodded gratefully to him as she took a hold of it. “Thank you. I’ll make sure after lunch that this gets safely into SHIELD’s custody.”

That piqued his interest. “Lunch?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but he saw a familiar glint in them that after years of knowing her, knew it meant she was amused by something. “Stark. He’s determined on trying shawarma. Says he’ll die without it.”

Tony. _Tony_. How could he have forgotten about _Tony_? If Natasha was here, then of course Tony was here too. Along with the rest of the Avengers. A deep sadness swelled inside of him. Tony and Nat were going to die again and what could he do to stop it? If this was truly Hell, absolutely nothing.

“Of course,” he said, hoping that the super-spy didn’t pick up on the frustration in his voice. Or at least read it as frustration towards Tony’s antics, which was more believable than anything.

“He invited the rest of us. His treat,” she said. “He said and I quote, ‘make sure the Capsicle knows that includes him, too.’”

Steve held back a chuckle. “I’m surprised Stark even bothered to invite me. I didn’t exactly get the feeling that he liked me.”

“Really?” Natasha said lightly. “I thought you goading him into a fight was the _perfect_ way to break the ice.”

Heat flooded Steve’s face. He had nearly forgotten about the fight aboard the Helicarrier. Steve had a handful of regrets in his life, one of them most definitely being the things he had said on the Helicarrier. God, he had told Tony to stop pretending to be a _hero_. Once again, the urge to throttle his younger self hit him. Of all people to accuse of pretending to be heroes, Steve had chosen one of the most heroic men he had ever met. Figures.

“Maybe I was a little harsh,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Maybe,” Natasha hummed. “But now you can make things right. If you want to, of course.”

And, like always, Natasha Romanoff was slapping some sense into him. He could make things right. He could make things _right_.

“I think,” he began, “you might be onto something.”

* * *

It had been a _long_ day. Despite not having spent the day fighting off an alien invasion with the others, he figured his brush with death by migraine more than made up for it. He was ready to curl up on the nearest relatively soft object and go to sleep for another seventy years. Only the sight of his teammates kept him awake, but just barely.

He glanced at them through his lashes, propping his head up with his hand so he wouldn’t keel over. It was like a scene out of a movie, the way their lunch played out exactly the same.

Natasha and him had joined up with the others who looked just as bad as he felt. When they had updated the others on the Loki situation, Thor’s face had taken on a thunderous expression (no pun intended) and he had been all but ready to tear up the rest of New York looking for him. Tony had been the one to calm him down.

“Do it later, Point Break. You look one thunder bolt away from passing out. Besides, I’m starving, and nothing short of death is stopping me from eating.”

Thor had looked ready to protest but, in true Tony fashion, Tony just patted him on the back, steering him away from the others with a “Come on, Billy Ray Cyrus, you’re killing me here.”

Years ago, Steve would have mistaken Tony’s actions for arrogance or laziness. Now though, now he could see that even from the beginning that Tony had been working overtime trying to look after all of them. Anyone with eyes could see that they were all exhausted and in desperate need of rest and sustenance. And despite Thor’s protests that he wasn’t a fragile mortal like the rest of them, Steve had noticed the sluggishness to the god’s movements.

And so here they were, in the Shawarma Palace (self-proclaimed shawarma capital of all of Manhattan), sitting around the exact table Steve had sat at with them eleven years ago. Or now? He still couldn’t wrap his head around the mechanics of time travel.

Immediately to his left was Thor, who was gladly scarfing down what he deemed the “exquisite Midgardian cuisine,” followed by Tony who even without the appetite of a super-soldier, god, or a Hulk, managed to put away two sandwiches and was well into his third. Bruce had (thankfully) been provided with spare clothes and hyper-focused on his food, leaving just Natasha and Clint, who were sitting next to each other on his right-hand side.

They ate in silence, albeit not an awkward one. Even back then, now, _whatever_ , Steve could see that _something_ was forming between the six of them. There had been something there. Something that had the potential to be glorious.

A wave of melancholy washed over him as he realized that he had missed this. He had missed _them_. For so long, after they had thawed him out from the ice, Steve remembered feeling like a passenger in his own life. His days prior to the Avengers had been filled with him training, always getting ready for the next mission that never came, never allowing himself to properly grieve over everything he had lost. And then they had been brought together, whether it be by fate or through man-made machinations, and Steve’s life had had a purpose again.

And regardless if this was some hallucination induced by the migraine, a spell, or the afterlife, or _real_ life, Steve was determined to see things through right to the bitter end. But first he needed some answers.

And he knew just the place to get them.

* * *

She was waiting for him.

It had nearly been two weeks since she had done…whatever it was she had done and as each day passed, Steve waited with baited breath for something to give this hallucination or hell-scape or dream up. But each day passed by normally and painfully slow. And nothing, aside from New York dealing with the aftermath of an alien invasion, seemed out of the ordinary. Steve woke up everyday in his sad little SHIELD issued apartment, trained, and tried to help New York heal to the best of his ability, both as Captain America and just as plain old Steve Rogers.

The search for Loki had unfortunately bared no results and he and the rest of the Avengers were supposed to see Thor off-world that afternoon. The god was leaving to continue the search for his brother. It seemed as if the god of mischief had vanished into thin air. And seeing as he had disappeared with the Tesseract, that very well could have been their reality. Whatever situation Steve was in, it was painstakingly real.

The sorceress, once again in those same sunshine yellow robes, stared at him from across the sturdy wooden table, her hands folded primly in front of her. Like last time, Steve hadn’t even needed to knock, the door to the Sanctum opening up for him as if through…well, magic. He had been escorted by a young woman, another sorcerer, he assumed given she was also wearing robes and the familiar ring he had noticed both Doctor Strange and the yellow-robed woman wore. His escort had referred to the yellow-robed woman as the Ancient One and suddenly, Steve had a deep understanding for Tony’s dislike of all things magic.

The Ancient One reached for the tea pot that had been placed in between them.

“Tea?” she asked. “It’s jasmine.”

He could go for some tea. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“Would you like anything with it? Lemon? Honey?”

“Just lemon is fine.”

As she poured the pot, the fragrant, sweet smell of jasmine hit Steve’s nose. He could smell something else, too—lavender? Jasmine and lavender. Perhaps he was reading too much into it, but he couldn’t help but feel as if she had selected this brew specifically to calm Steve’s nerves. That didn’t bode well.

She placed the cup in front of him, the scent of jasmine, lavender, and now freshly squeezed lemon blending together blissfully until Steve could feel himself letting go of tension he hadn’t even realized he had been carrying with him.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

He took a sip, relaxing even further as the sweetness of the jasmine melded with the sourness of the lemon and overwhelmed his taste-buds. Maybe she had been onto something when she had made the tea.

She took a sip from her own cup, and the two of them settled into a peaceful silence. They were sitting in a study of some sort, done up almost entirely in dark wood paneling. Their table was situated right next to a grand window. Through the window, Steve had a nice view of a nearby park. He could see joggers going on their morning runs, a young couple enjoying a nice picnic, an old man taking a stroll through a grove of trees. Normal people going about their normal lives.

They didn’t speak until both of them had finished their cups, just enjoying the relative peace of the morning.

“I assume you have questions, Captain.”

“Please, call me Steve.”

“Alright. Steve. Do you have any questions?”

Steve placed his cup back down on its little saucer. “I…the migraine…you knew—” he wasn’t sure _what_ exactly he was trying to say but the Ancient One seemed to understand what he was getting at anyway.

“ _T_ _hat_ was no mere migraine, Steve. That was your brain hemorrhaging.”

“Hemorrhaging? As in ‘internal bleeding’ hemorrhaging?”

“The very same.”

“And I’m not dead?”

She pursed her lips. “That…depends on your definition of dead.”

His definition of—what?

“Ma’am, I’m pretty sure my definition of dead is the same as everyone else’s.”

“Then, no, you’re not dead. Not technically.”

“Not technically,” he repeated, deadpan. “I’m only slightly dead.”

“Obviously you’re feeling fine, if you’re finding it in yourself to joke, Captain.”

“What happened to 'Steve'?”

She began to pour herself another cup of tea. “You called me, ‘ma’am’.”

“What else can I call you?” Steve held up a hand as she opened her mouth to speak, “Please don’t make me call you ‘Ancient One.’”

There was a twinkle in her eye. “No one has called me anything but the ‘Ancient One’ for nearly 600 years.”

“Really?” he asked. “You don’t look a day over thirty.”

“No, I suppose I don’t, do I?” she mused, then paused before saying, “Brita. You may call me, Brita.”

“Okay, Brita. What the hell did you do to me?”

“I saved your life. You’re welcome by the way.”

“Thank you,” Steve said absentmindedly. “Care to explain _why_ my life needed saving?”

“Steve,” she said exasperatedly. “You were suffering from internal bleeding. Unless you _wanted_ your brain to leak out of your nose, I did what was necessary for you to survive, Mr. Rogers.”

“And what exactly did you do?”

She stared him dead in his eyes. “I think you know.”

A million emotions slammed him all at once. Anger, fear, so much fear, but…there was hope too. Just a sliver, but he would hold onto it with all of his will.

“So,” he hesitated. “This isn’t some form of Heaven or Hell?”

“No.”

“Hallucination?”

She shook her head.

“Dream?”

“Not a dream.”

“Spell?”

“…Of a sort.”

“I’d like some more tea, please,” he muttered, clearing his throat.

“Of course.” With a wave of her hand, the cup instantly refilled itself, lemon and all.

Steve’s hands shook as he reached for the cup.

The Ancient One—Brita—placed her hand atop his. “Steve,” she said softly, “I’m sorry. But it was necessary. This timeline, it would have been doomed if you did not live.”

“This timeline…you saw this happen?”

“The Time Stone has shown me many things in my life.”

“That’s not a no.”

“It also isn’t a yes,” she spat back. “But…it may have given me hints. Glimpses. A sense of foreboding, if you will. Before I gave the stone to Banner, I did some general…searching. And it showed me you. This,” she said waving her hand around them. “But not what happened before. No, I figured that out for myself.”

“So…” he said slowly, “you saw me coming. And us having tea. But not…not the hemorrhaging.”

She nodded. “The hemorrhaging was brought on by your extended jaunts in time. As I said earlier, even I can only use the Time Stone sparingly. And that device you created, probably operates under similar rules.”

“And what are those rules?”

“Really, there’s one basic one. You can’t remain in proximity of any younger version of yourself for more than 24 hours. Even if you’re on completely opposite sides of the universe. Granted, the effects are slower the further away from your younger self you are, but they don’t stop completely.”

“So us retrieving the stones, me returning them, fighting my younger self, all of that led to…my brain leaking out of my nose?”

“That was the timeline trying to correct itself. You traveling back in time would cause countless anomalies in the space-time continuum. Space and time would literally rip itself apart, so it targets the anomaly and annihilates it.”

A numbness settled deep inside himself like a stone pit had been dropped into the bottom of his stomach. Annihilated. The universe had _literally_ been trying to kill him in the most painful way possible.

“I…I had to force your current conscience into your younger self’s body…it was the only way,” she said quietly.

“I…I honestly don’t know how to respond to that.”

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t expect you to.”

“And… my body? My future…present…”

“It’s gone. Along with everything on your person.”

“Gone?”

“Once I corrected the anomaly, your body for lack of a better word, poofed into non-existence. You’re in your younger self’s body. His conscience is completely gone. It’s just you in there.”

Steve’s head was beginning to hurt. His younger self’s conscience had disappeared entirely along with his future body…did he kill himself?

“No, you did not kill yourself.”

“How did you—”

“I saw it in your face.” She paused for a beat. “Would you like some more tea?”

“I’d like the whole damn pot.”

* * *

Even if he had been given a choice, he wasn’t sure he’d even _want_ to go back to his original timeline. A wave of guilt washed over him. There was still work to be done in his original timeline. Societies all across the universe would have to readjust to suddenly regaining half of its missing population. Not to mention the countless clean up initiatives that were _still_ in need of volunteers and funding after Thanos’ 2018 invasion. There’d be issues with homelessness, possible food shortages and God, Steve didn’t even want to _think_ about the mental toll Bruce’s snap would have on everyone.

But…if he stayed in this timeline, he could do it. He could stop Thanos _before_ he even got a chance to get the stones. The original timeline had already been decimated but this one, _this_ one still had hope. He’d be leaving behind everything he ever knew but it wouldn’t be for the first time.

Fear tried to sink its claws into him but he shook it off. He couldn’t afford to be afraid. Not when the fate of this timeline was resting on him.

_The others will be fine. They’ll make it without me. They have each other._

He repeated the mantra in his head the entire ride to meet the others.

Steve took in the ride, basking in the gentle breeze kissing his cheeks and whistling past his ears. He had missed his motorcycle. He had a lot of good memories associated with it. He remembered after Loki and the Chitauri invasion the first time around, he had gone on a cross country road trip with nothing but the clothes on his back and his bike in between his legs.

Steve was the first to arrive and he couldn’t help chuckling to himself. It seemed like even in this timeline, some things were never going to change.

Not too long after Steve parked his motorcycle, he heard a familiar, yet obnoxious purr of a luxury car’s engine and out strolled Tony looking far too good for someone who had nearly died twice two weeks ago. Bruce hopped out of the passenger seat, giving him a light wave in greeting, looking like he was trying to make himself smaller.

Steve wanted to pull the both of them into a hug but he settled for a quick nod in return. He couldn’t be over familiar with them. Tony and Bruce may have not been super-spies, but they were geniuses in their own right and would pick up on his odd behavior if he were to act like he had known them for years.

“Captain,” Tony said, smiling brightly.

It was his media smile. Years of interacting with Tony had taught him the difference. His real smile made his eyes crinkle and even though they were currently shrouded by rose-tinted sunglasses, Steve knew the skin around his eyes was smooth.

“Stark,” he said.

Tony. He wanted to call him Tony.

Tony’s smile got wider and nodding his head at Steve’s motorcycle, he said, “A motorcycle, huh? Isn’t that a little, I don’t know, wild for you? I was thinking you were more of a Beetle man.”

Eleven years ago, Steve would’ve taken the bait for what it was, but he was older and wiser, and damn near immune to Tony’s ways now. Instead he just shrugged, and said, “Bikes are more up my alley. Believe it or not, we had motorcycles in the forties.”

“She’s a beaut, Cap,” Tony replied. “Mind if I?” He did a hand-wavy gesture.

“Knock yourself out,” he said, holding back a grin. Tony had asked him the exact same thing the first time around. He just couldn’t hold himself back around any nice machinery, and if that had been exactly why Steve decided to take his bike today, then who was going to judge him?

Tony raised his sunglasses onto his forehead, stooped down to get a closer look at Steve’s bike and let out a low whistle. “Is this a ‘57 sportster? Where’d you get one in such good condition?”

“Sure is. Found it in a junkyard about two months ago. Fixed it up myself, paint job and all.”

And it was the truth. Steve remembered the day clearly. It had been some time after he had come out of the ice. He had had no friends to see, no family to visit, no missions and was at a complete and utter loss at what to do with himself. The bike had been sitting in a junkyard, an old forgotten relic from the past and he knew he couldn’t just leave it there to rot. It had taken him some time to fix it on his own, but it had given him something to do.

“Oh, you’ve _got_ to let me work on her. At least once,” Tony pleaded looking at him with his bright brown eyes and Steve’s breath caught in his throat.

“Of course. As long as I can help out.”

“It’s a date, Rogers.”

The roaring of a car turning the corner and coming to a stop at the sidewalk with an audible screech shook Steve to his very core. Only one person could be behind that wheel.

Natasha stepped out of the car looking completely unbothered, meanwhile Clint clambered out of the car looking pale in the face.

“Jesus, Nat,” he said. “We already have people trying to kill us regularly, _why_ are you trying to help them?”

Natasha feigned looking hurt. “I thought you liked my driving, Barton.”

“I like being alive more,” Clint said.

“Really?” Tony said, lowering his sunglasses. “I distinctly remember you jumping off a building with no parachute.”

Clint shrugged. “I knew someone would catch me, Tin Man.”

“Tin man?” Tony bristled. Soon he and Clint were griping back and forth and it was such a familiar sight, Steve almost wanted to cry.

Natasha strolled over to him, greeting both him and Bruce with a “Captain. Dr. Banner.”

“Ms. Romanoff,” he replied.

“Figured I’d stand next to the only other people on this team with more than one brain cell,” she said.

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to,” she replied, smiling sweetly.

Even Bruce had to stifle a chuckle.

“When’s tall, blonde and handsome showing up?” Tony asked after _finally_ getting the last word in with Clint.

“We told him eleven,” Natasha said, “whether or not he shows up on time is up to him.”

“Do Norse gods run on mortal time?” Tony mused.

Almost as if summoned by their mention of him, the low rumble of thunder could be heard in the distance. What had been a clear, bright day, quickly turned into a gray, overcast nightmare as the God of Thunder appeared in a flash of lightning and wind.

Steve had to give it to him, Thor always knew how to make an entrance.

“Does that answer your question, Tony?” Bruce muttered.

“Thor,” Steve said, stepping forward.

Thor gripped his hand in a firm handshake, “Captain. It’s good to see you. All of you.”

“What’s next for you, big guy?” Tony said.

“Searching the Nine Realms for Loki and dragging him back to Asgard, if it calls for it.”

“SHIELD is going to continue their search on Earth, but I don’t know how any facial recognition software is going to help find a man who can change his appearance at will,” Clint said, crossing his arms in front of him.

“It won’t,” Thor said darkly. “If Loki doesn’t want to be found, he won’t be.”

“But if he’s disguising himself…wouldn’t that mean he’s using his magic?” Natasha asked.

“Please don’t say magic, it gives me hives,” Tony said.

Ignoring him, Natasha pushed on, “If he’s using his magic, is there any way you could trace it?”

“That…might actually work,” Thor said.

“If magic is unique to each individual,” Natasha began.

“Then Loki using his magic would be like him leaving his DNA all over the place,” Clint finished.

“God, that is creepy. Did you two practice that? I feel like you did.”

“Stark, I swear to God—”

“I’ll convene with Asgard’s sorcerers as soon as I return,” Thor cut in. “Thank you, Widow.”

“Before you go,” Tony began. “There’s space at Stark Tower if you ever need a place to crash. For all of you, actually.”

Thor smiled brightly, clapping Tony on the shoulder. “Thank you, Stark. That is quite generous of you.”

“It is,” Natasha said. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Tony replied, raising his hands. “Just wanted to let you know it was on the table. Figured it would be good for PR, too.”

“It would be nice to have a place to crash in between missions,” Clint said. “Why not. Maybe living with you won’t be a total nightmare.”

“You know what, Legolas—”

“Children. Complete children,” Natasha muttered.

“Yeah,” Steve said as Clint and Tony began to bicker once more. “They’re not half bad, though.”

“You’re thinking about moving in with him?” Natasha asked, arching a finely plucked brow.

“I don’t see why not.”

Steve remembered in his timeline he had brushed Tony off the first time he had offered he had assumed that he had had some ulterior motive. He knew better now. And the thought of Tony shuffling around that big, lonely tower all by himself like a ghost…it didn’t sit right with him.

“I have to say I didn’t see that coming.” Natasha’s voice dropped, “But Captain…there’s always a place for you at SHIELD if you want it.”

The last time around, he had said yes without a thought. He had underestimated how much he had missed being on a team, running around doing some good. At least he thought it had been good until HYDRA had reared its ugly head. His mind began to race with all of the possibilities. In the elevator he had said those disgusting words but…he could use them to his advantage. If he said yes, he could take down HYDRA two years early. _He could save Bucky_.

Mind made up, he said, “If it’s alright with SHIELD, I wouldn’t mind doing missions. As long as they let me stay at the Tower.”

“SHIELD’s accommodations aren’t up to your standards? I thought you hated the Tower.”

Shrugging he said, “What can I say? It grew on me.”

Natasha eyed him with a look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. “Fair enough. I’ll let Fury know.”

“How about you, Bruce?” Steve asked. “You thinking about staying?”

Flushing, Bruce said, “I already moved in.”

“Stark showed you his lab and you didn’t look back, did you?”

“What was I supposed to do, say no?”

At that, Steve let out what had to be the first genuine laugh he had had in a long time. “No need to explain yourself. Stark has a way with words, I’ll give him that.”

Tony had slung an arm around Clint’s shoulders. “How about a nest? A roosting point? What _do_ hawk’s sleep in?”

“It’s called an aerie, you ass.”

“That! Would you like one?”

“What do you think?”

“…Yes?”

“…Yes.”

“Oh my God,” Natasha said, face-palming.

Fighting back a grin, Steve knew he had made the right decision.

* * *

Thor’s exit was just as flashy as his entrance; as he called out Heimdall’s name, the Bifrost in all of its multicolored beauty engulfed the god, scorching the earth on which he had stood. The scent of ozone and something metallic which Steve couldn’t help but associate with magic lingered on the air.

Each of them said their goodbyes then. Clint had shaken all of their hands, (except Tony who he had punched in the shoulder. Steve thought Tony liked it though, given how wildly he grinned afterward,) while Natasha gave them all cool nods before they sped off in the opposite direction of the way they came.

“And then there were three,” Tony said, as he and Bruce slowly ambled over to Tony’s car. “Where are you headed, Cap?”

“I figured I’d take you up on your offer,” he said, looking Tony in his eyes. At least he tried to. Those sunglasses were damn near impenetrable. “That’s if I’m welcome, of course. Wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Tony ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “I meant what I said. There’s plenty of space. For all of you.”

And that’s how Steve found himself trailing behind Tony’s car on his bike. Giddiness bubbled up inside of him. Steve had seen the Compound as home, but the Tower, the Tower was where it had all started. After SHIELD had fallen, Steve, Natasha, and Clint had all finally taken Tony on his offer to stay in the Tower, Thor following along behind them after abnegating, and that had marked the beginning of their transition from team to _family_. And they would be a family again. He knew in his bones that the six of them, they would always find each other, regardless of what timeline, hell, what _dimension_ , they were in.

Thanos had called himself inevitable. But he didn’t account for one thing. So were the Avengers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I'm absolutely floored at the response the first chapter got. Thank you to all of you who commented, bookmarked, subscribed, left kudos, hell, thank you for even just _clicking_ on this story. Follow me on [tumblr](https://www.imperialstark.tumblr.com) for more marvel/stony content! Y'all know the drill. Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! Love you guys!


	3. three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Tony, and Bruce adjust to life after the Battle of New York and living in the tower together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own anything related to Marvel Comics or Marvel Studios, but if I did, this is how I'd do it. Readers be warned, Steve does experience a panic attack in this chapter and if that may end up triggering you, it starts at  
>  **"The summer seemed to zoom past him, June bleeding into July and July into August,"** and ends at  
>  **"Steve chuckled then propped his elbows up on the table to rest his head in his hands. He was okay. He was okay. He was okay."**

The first month was the hardest.

It’s not like Steve was expecting things to fall perfectly back into place. He knew life in the tower wasn’t going to be like it was before Thanos, before the Accords, before Ultron. But he still hoped. There were days where Tony would waltz into a room, bright-eyed and fidgety despite spending nearly the entire day in his workshop, and say one thing or another that would send Steve’s mind flying back to his past and it would be like he had never left his original timeline. Other times, Bruce and Tony acted like complete strangers, and he supposed they were complete strangers to each other at this point, which made it even harder for him to pretend he didn’t know nearly everything about them.

Sometimes he would do something for one of them without them even asking, or reference an inside joke that didn’t exist between them yet and Bruce and Tony would stare at him like he had suddenly sprouted another head. (He wondered if that was another side-effect of time travel he hadn’t known about. He’d have to ask Brita.)

In that first month, he couldn’t help but feel lost. It was just him, Bruce, and Tony in the tower, with Pepper and Rhodey occasionally stepping in to check on Tony. Thor was still traversing the Nine Realms in search of Loki whom they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of on earth. Clint would occasionally stop by in between missions, usually in the wee hours of the morning, nearly always inhaling a bowl of cereal or chugging a pot of coffee before disappearing off to God knows where. (Was he with Laura yet?) Natasha, like Clint, was also a transient being in the tower; Steve would never see her, never hear her, but sometimes he’d walk into a room and something would be _off_. A book missing from a its shelf. A stray lipstick-stained cup lying on the counter. It was very creepy. And so _Natasha_.

Readjusting to living with Bruce and Tony hadn’t been easy at first. He had felt so _lonely_ having an entire floor to himself, so used to hanging around Tony’s penthouse suite or his workshop in the original timeline, or sparring with Natasha and Clint in the communal gym. He even missed the days where he and Bruce would cook dinner for the Avengers, Steve wanting to try something new every week that (thankfully) wasn’t boiled potatoes. He missed the movie nights which had started for both his and Thor’s sake to get them caught up on Earth’s culture and had slowly evolved to the chaotic, yet fun family events they had been.

Some days his grief for everything he had lost would creep over him like an immense black storm cloud and engulf him whole until he could barely drag himself from his bed. It was on those days he missed his timeline the most. He missed _his_ Natasha and _his_ Tony and Sam and Bucky. He missed waking up and actually feeling like he had belonged somewhere. Maybe he would always be the man out of time. He wasn’t the same man who had put the Valkyrie in the ice all those years ago, nor did he think he was the same man who had stepped on that platform merely a month ago.

And so Steve kept himself busy. He volunteered with Habitat for Humanity to help rebuild the many homes that had been damaged during the Battle of New York, spending nearly entire days in the blistering heat of June sawing wood and lifting beams and it made him feel good. It made him feel useful.

Tony had also been helping rebuild in his own way. His joint purchase of the Damage Control organization from SHIELD had finally gone through, making it an official sect of the United States government. Now any and all casualties and destruction caused by both superheroes and super-villains would be cleaned up by government officials with funding from both Tony and the U.S government. It was such a grandiose gesture but what else could he expect from Tony? Had he been his 2012 self, he would have expected Tony to brag about the gesture, but he knew better now. Tony did brag, but only when he felt threatened.

“Genius, Billionaire, Playboy, Philanthropist,” he had answered quickly during their spat on the Helicarrier, brown eyes dancing with fight and fury and something he could only describe as _hurt_. And what had come before that? Steve implying that Tony was nothing without the suit. Granted, everything Tony did was bright and flashy and meant to grab somebody’s undivided attention but that was just who Tony was at his core. And given what Tony had done in the original timeline, what he had been _destined_ to do, Steve thought Tony Stark _deserved_ to brag.

It was on his way home from another long day toiling in the sweltering summer heat when things finally, _finally_ , began to change.

Steve had felt good about himself for what seemed like the first time in a while. They had finished working on their last house for the month and a cheery air had followed him for the rest of the day. He was doing good just by being himself, just by being Steve Rogers. He hadn’t been just Steve Rogers in a long time.

A sigh of relief escaped him as he entered the main lobby of the tower, greeting Fred the receptionist with a quick nod, as a cool breeze washed over his body. Steve had to give it to the 21st century; air conditioning was literally a godsend. He entered the elevator swiftly, swiping the special key-card gifted to him by Tony that gave him access to the upper levels of the tower, and tugged at the collar of his shirt. All he had worn was a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt, yet the sweat-soaked clothes clung to him like a second skin. His hair wasn’t any better, weighing down on his forehead and getting into his eyes.

He ran a hand through it, hoping to get some of it out of his eyes but looking at his reflection in the glass of the elevator, all he had succeeded in doing was giving himself a cow lick. Huffing, he tried to tame his hair, yet it was futile. His hair seemed to be as stubborn as the rest of him. Steve was so busy fussing with his hair, he hadn’t even realized that he had long since passed his own floor on the tower and wandered straight into Tony’s penthouse at the same time said sleep-deprived genius shuffled into the room. They both froze, staring at each other for what seemed like centuries. The last actual conversation they had shared had been a month ago when Tony had first invited him to live in the tower. Their other interactions since then had been few and far in between; short, stilted conversations with long awkward silences.

Tony had completely wrapped himself, head and all, in a fluffy, fleece-lined red and gold blanket, little tufts of his hair poking out from where he had tossed the blanket over his head. Two house shoes with absolutely ginormous Iron Man themed heads adorned his feet. He looked absolutely ridiculous. And adorable.

Tony stared at him with blurry, yet unblinking brown eyes, before sighing.“Please don’t tell Clint.”

Steve wasn’t ashamed to admit that he laughed for an unbearably long time. “Oh my God,” he gasped out, tears running down his cheeks. “Tony, what the hell?” He said incredulously, not even realizing that he had slipped up and called him by his first name.

“They’re comfy!” he shouted, stomping his feet. The eyes of the helmet-shoes started to glow, setting Steve off once more.

“Cap, I swear on Isaac Newton’s grave, I’m not catching you the next time you jump off a building without a parachute.”

“Isn’t that more Clint’s move?” Steve asked, wiping away stray tears. Little chuckles still escaped him every now and then at the sight of Tony pouting. God, he looked like an angry kitten.

“You do it too, asshole,” Tony said, stomping into the little kitchenette of his penthouse suite. Opening a cabinet, he stood on his tiptoes to reach for the bag of coffee grounds that had been placed on the highest shelf. “Stupid short legs,” Tony muttered. “JARVIS, who even put the coffee grounds on the top shelf?”

“Colonel Rhodes did it during his last visit, sir,” JARVIS replied smoothly. It was still a culture shock to hear his voice again after all these years, but if JARVIS had noticed Steve’s odd behavior, he hadn’t made any mention of it to Tony.

“That traitor!”

“He asked me to record your reaction when you found out, sir.”

“And did you say no?”

“Of course not, sir,” JARVIS said. Steve swore he could detect a hint of amusement in the AI’s voice.

“How could you pick his side? I built you!”

“As you keep reminding me, sir.”

“Such sass. Do you hear this?” Tony asked, turning to Steve, finally giving up on reaching the grounds. “JARVIS went all Skynet on me. Wait, you don’t understand that reference, do you?”

Steve shook his head, which was the truth. He had heard of the Terminator movies in his original timeline but had never gotten around to watching them. “Afraid not.”

“A shame. An absolute travesty,” Tony said seriously. “ _The Terminator_ is like the quintessential eighties sci-fi film. Except for maybe _Aliens_. And _The Empire Strikes Back_. And—”

Chuckling and holding up his hand, Steve said, “I get it. The eighties were superior to the forties and you think I’m an old fuddy-duddy.”

“I don’t think you’re,” Tony began before suddenly pausing. “Did you just say fuddy-duddy or did I hallucinate that? It’s very possible I could have hallucinated that. I haven’t slept in 36 hours.”

“Tony!” Steve admonished. “And you’re still planning on drinking coffee?”

“Well, I was until someone decided to care about my well-being or whatever,” Tony said. “Stupid Rhodey,” He grumbled for good measure.

“No. Not Stupid Rhodey. Smart Rhodey,” Steve said.

“Not you, too,” Tony said, then narrowed his eyes. “Despite the sleep deprivation and the fact that I’ve eaten nothing but smoothies for the past 24 hours, I’m 99.9 percent sure you’ve never even come up to the penthouse before. And you haven’t called me, ‘Stark’ which is double weird. Are you here to yell at me?”

“Tony—”

“Nag?”

“What? No, I—”

“Pester? Annoy—”

“Do you ever let anyone else talk?” Steve finally blurted out, throwing up his hands. “I’m not here to force feed you or drag you off to bed. Although, I’m definitely considering it.”

Tony blinked, looking incredibly small in his blanket. “You seem mad but like twenty jokes just went through my head and not saying them might literally kill me.”

“Oh my God,” Steve said, dragging his hand down his face. “Okay,” he said, reaching for Tony.

“Spangles, what the hell are you doing?” Tony yelped when Steve bodily picked him up and tossed him over his shoulder as if he weighed nothing.

Steve was _tired_ of pretending Tony wasn’t one of his closest friends. At this point, so what? They lived in a world of Norse gods and Mad Titans, if Tony and the others found out about what had happened to him, what were they going to do, deny time travel existed?

“Don’t focus on what _I’m_ doing,” he said, striding over to the couch. “ _You_ , Shellhead, are going to take yourself a nice, long nap.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Tony, I will literally sit on you.”

“Winghead, if you sit on me I will get JARVIS to physically eject your ass out of this tower.”

“With all due respect sir, I have to agree with the Captain,” JARVIS said.

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Steve said, looking up at the ceiling.

“Traitors. I’m literally surrounded by traitors. This is it. This is my villain origin story.”

Steve tossed Tony onto the couch (gently, might he add) but given the way Tony screamed as he sailed through the air, one would’ve assumed he had thrown the man across the room. “Goodnight, Supreme Overlord Stark.”

Tony frowned up at him, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I’m gonna take a nap. But only because I want to. And I think you actually will sit on me.”

Steve grinned. “Excellent choice.”

Tony mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Stupid super-soldiers and their stupid enhanced strength,” but he closed his eyes nonetheless, his long dark lashes casting shadows on his hollow cheeks. In what seemed like mere seconds, Tony’s breath evened out and Steve knew that he had truly fallen asleep. He really _did_ look tired. Dark, damn near purple, circles surrounded his eyes and there was a gauntness to his face that reminded him too much of what Tony had looked like when Carol had brought him home.

Making up his mind, Steve let out a tentative, “JARVIS?”

“Yes, Captain Rogers?” The AI responded immediately.

“Does Tony have any food in his kitchen?”

“If coffee grounds and expired blueberries count as food, then yes.”

Steve huffed. “Jesus, Tony.”

“My sentiments exactly, sir.”

“Alright,” Steve sighed, “ I guess that means I’m going to the store.”

An hour later, when Tony awoke from his nap, stretching languidly like a cat, Steve had prepared themselves a nice meal consisting of blackened chicken served upon a bed of angel hair pasta tossed with garlic butter, parmesan, and herbs. “Damn, Cap,” he said, scenting the air. “Who hipped you onto pasta?”

“Tony, I ate boiled potatoes for nearly twenty six years of my life. If you think I’m going to keep up that habit when I have the entire world’s food at my finger tips, you’re not as much of a genius as I thought,” he said, carrying two plates loaded down with pasta to the small square dining table near the kitchenette.

Tony yawned, stretching once more until he heard something pop.

Steve snickered. “Your joints sound like someone’s breaking ice.”

Tony glared at him, shuffling over to the dining table, blanket and all. “Not all of us can remain young and spry forever.”

“Not forever,” Steve corrected. “Just indefinitely.”

“Semantics, soldier,” Tony said, waving a hand, then furrowed his brows. “I’m definitely _not_ sleep deprived anymore so why are you still here? And being nice? Did you break something? Need something? Upgrades? Money?”

The genuine confusion in Tony’s voice broke his heart. Did he honestly think no one could do something nice for him without expecting something in return?

“No,” Steve began, sitting directly across from Tony. “I didn’t break anything. And I don’t need upgrades or anything like that.” Steve bit his lip. “Think of it as an apology. And a peace offering.”

“Apology?”

“For what I said on the Helicarrier,” Steve elaborated.

Tony visibly stiffened in his seat, his back going rigid.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve said and he knew he was apologizing for far more than what he had said on the Helicarrier. “I had no right to say that you should stop pretending to be a hero.”

“To be honest,” Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “I don’t even think you’re capable of pretending. Being Iron Man comes as easily to you as breathing.”

Steve dove into his pasta, shoving a forkful into his mouth before he could say anything else embarrassing.

“I’m gonna need you to say that again,” Tony said slowly, “but slower so I can record it and post it on YouTube.”

Steve chuckled, ducking his head, all of the tension leaving his body at once. “Tony,” he said, grinning brightly.

Tony’s eyes softened. “In all seriousness, though, thanks Cap. It means a lot. Truly. And,” Tony looked down. “I’m sorry, too. You weren’t the only one who said awful things on that Helicarrier. The serum may have made you all,” Tony did a hand wavy gesture, “but it didn’t give you your heart. That’s all you.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to be bashful. “Eat up, Tony.”

“Gladly,” Tony said, reaching out for his plate.

“And Tony?”

“Yeah, Cap?”

“Thank you.”

“…No problem, Winghead.”

“Shut your trap and eat your food, Shellhead.”

* * *

It seemed like after their impromptu lunch, the flood gates opened. Slowly, but surely, Tony began to seek Steve out. Sometimes, Steve would enter his floor to see Tony lounging on his sofa wrapped up in his ever present Iron Man themed blanket and light up house shoes as if he lived there himself. One time, Steve had caught him trying (keyword: _trying_ ) to cook in Steve’s kitchen.

“I was just trying to return the favor,” Tony had said, covered head to toe in flour and eggs. “Honestly, even I have no idea how I screwed up this badly.” Instead, Steve had just laughed until his stomach ached, ordered a pizza (Brooklyn style of course, Steve wasn’t a heathen), and settled down to watch a movie with Tony. Tony had pushed for _The Terminator_ , claiming it was absolutely essential for Steve to watch in order to acclimate to the 21st century. They had sat next to each other on the sofa, Tony completely disregarding Steve’s personal space (Steve loved it) and settling his feet into Steve’s lap. Steve had enjoyed the movie for what it was, although the time travel plot line had hit a little too close to home.

Tony had been upset that he hadn’t been converted (his words, not Steve’s) on his stance on 80s movies and took it as a personal goal to get Steve to fall in love with at least one 80s movie and thus the Avengers movie night was born. Tony had JARVIS curate a list of the highest rated 80s movies and every Friday night, Steve and Tony would take turns picking a movie from the list, with Bruce, Rhodey, and Pepper occasionally making appearances. In a way, it was so similar to his original timeline where Tony along with Natasha, surprisingly, had been horrified at his lack of pop culture knowledge and had sought to rectify the situation. He still missed his original timeline and his Tony and his Natasha and all the others but his movie nights with Tony, quiet, intimate nights where it was just _them_ , made it a bit more bearable.

One night they had been plowing their way through their list and Tony had fallen asleep about halfway through _Ferris Bueller’s Day Off_. Steve found his shoulder being used as a pillow as soft snores escaped Tony’s mouth. He had savored the moment, allowing himself to truly be close to Tony in a way he hadn’t in a long, _long_ time.

But where Tony went, others usually followed. Not like Steve could blame them. He’d follow Tony anywhere, too. First came Rhodey who had walked in on him and Tony in the penthouse mid-food fight. Steve had been _trying_ to teach Tony how to cook and Tony being well, _Tony_ , ended up making a mess and somehow Steve found themselves pelting each other with flour and milk and cheese and anything else they could get their hands on. It had been the most fun Steve had had in years.

Rhodey had took one look at them and shook his head. “JARVIS, am I the only adult in the tower?” he had asked.

“I believe so, Colonel,” JARVIS had said.

Tony threw an egg at Rhodey in response.

All chaos had broken out with Rhodey then teaming up with Steve to damn near try to drown Tony in ketchup.

“I stand corrected,” JARVIS snarked once the fight had _finally_ died down and all three of them had burst out into giggles.

Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes had proved himself to be just as fun as his best friend and the three of them found themselves near inseparable because of it. Rhodey was just as smart and just as funny as Tony and when the three of them were together, somewhere on the opposite side of the country Pepper Potts felt a migraine forming.

Rhodey was followed by Bruce, who had been slowly emerging from his self-induced exile in the tower to spend time with Tony which then meant spending time with Steve. Or maybe it was the other way around. With the re-emergence of Bruce, Steve was allowed into their joint lab (he, sadly, still had yet to see Tony’s personal workshop). Watching Tony and Bruce work together was mesmerizing. In the less hectic moments, where Tony and Bruce were experimenting just for the sake of experimenting, Steve would occasionally join in, asking questions or passing them tools or poking fun at Tony, while Bruce looked on in barely veiled amusement. In other moments when their inventing took a more serious turn, such as when Tony and Bruce had been working together to figure out what stimuli made the Hulk revert back to Bruce with the least amount of resistance, Steve took to simply watching and sketching. His sketchbook now had many a picture of Tony and Bruce’s dark heads bent together in discovery. He found he enjoyed the quiet moments the most. Moments where it was just him and his pencil gliding along the paper like a figure skater upon ice.

For once, he had the time and the materials and the semi-peace of mind to draw again and Steve found himself drawing anything and everything. From simple reference drawings of things like bowls of fruit or the silhouette of the tower against the Manhattan skyline, to memories from the other timeline, smudged at the edges, their was always one constant figure in Steve’s drawings; Tony. Tony wrapped up in his Iron Man blanket and Tony with eye bags and dark circles and Tony with sunglasses and sharp Tom Ford suits; it seemed as if every other page was dedicated to Tony. But how could Steve _not_ draw him? The man was literal art in motion, calling attention to himself even when he wasn’t trying. Tony Stark could walk into a room and it was like all of the oxygen was his to own.

When Tony wasn’t inventing with Bruce or goofing around with Rhodey or spending time with him, he was with Pepper. Pepper and Tony, whenever they had the chance, would spend time flying back and forth between Malibu and Manhattan to be with each other. Steve liked it when Pepper came to visit. Whenever she stayed in the tower, it was like Tony’s entire being lit up. Seeing the near infinite amount of love Tony had for her hurt Steve in the best way; on one hand, some small, bitter part of him would contort in fury and jealousy that _he_ couldn’t make Tony light up like that, but a bigger part couldn’t help but burst with love and happiness at the sight of Tony’s happiness. He’d take a happy, _living_ Tony over a dead one.

And Pepper was great, really. She was beautiful and willful and as sharp as a tack. She and Steve had bonded over worrying about Tony who had called them both mother hens while rolling his eyes. Pepper had said that she and Steve were the only ones who had sense.

“The man jumps out of planes without parachutes, Pep,” Tony had said, astonished. “If anything, he’s a bad influence!”

“ _Captain America_ is a bad influence?” Pepper had asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

She reminded him of Peggy in the best way possible. She had her wit and this deep inner strength to her that Steve had only encountered one other time in his life.

This was Steve’s life now. And he was thankful for the small moment of peace, no matter how brief it would be. It may have only been 2012, but Steve knew something much bigger than any of them could comprehend was coming. And he would be ready. He would have to be.

* * *

The summer seemed to zoom past him, June bleeding into July and July into August. It was late one evening in the tower, he and Bruce had been making dinner together (chicken tikka masala this time) that Steve realized he had been in the past for three months. He had froze in the midst of chopping onions, his hands stopping in mid-air like a still-life. A tsunami of grief and guilt slammed Steve, sinking deep into his blood, his bones, his very being. For three _months_ he had been living it up in an alternate timeline while the others were either dead or working to rebuild the foundations of their society and he wasn’t _with them_.

“Steve?” Bruce asked, a hand tentatively reaching out towards him. “You okay there? You just froze out of nowhere.”

“I—I,” Steve stuttered. What could he even say? That he came from a timeline where a genocidal maniac wiped out half of all sentient life? That he and the Avengers had _failed_? That for five years they had wallowed in self-pity and misery and dragged an innocent man, a _father_ , out of retirement only to have him killed in the end?

“Hey, soldier?” Tony asked, stepping into the kitchen while looking down at his phone. “What do you think about _Ghostbusters_ tonight—” he came to a halt when he finally looked up from his phone and saw the stricken look upon Steve’s face. “Cap?”

Steve couldn’t hear them over the rush of blood in his ears Where was he? When was he? And Tony—why was Tony there? Tony was dead, dead, dead—

“JARVIS, what’s wrong?” Tony was saying, but that didn’t make sense either. JARVIS was dead just like Tony, wasn’t he?

“I believe Captain Rogers is suffering from a panic attack,” JARVIS replied.

“How do we help him?”

They couldn’t help him. No one could help him. It was always him making the sacrifice play so no one else could get hurt and yet they got hurt _anyway_. It was all his fault, everything was his _fault_. Steve couldn’t breathe and for a second he had a horrifying, sickening thought that the serum was failing and he was having an asthma attack even though he hadn’t had one in years.

“He’s hyperventilating!” Tony shouted, running towards him and crouching down. That was weird? When had Steve gotten on the ground?

“Try to get his breathing under control,” JARVIS stated.

“Hey, Cap,” Tony said, trying to force a smile but it wasn’t right. It wasn’t a real smile. “I’m gonna need you to stay with me, buddy? Can you do that? Can you count with me?”

“Count?” Steve heard himself saying.

“Yes, I need you to count with me, soldier. Try counting to ten with me, alright? And focus on your breathing. One.”

“Two,” Steve said and he tried his best to focus on Tony’s voice, his eyes, his everything. He reached out blindly for one of Tony’s hands and the other man immediately grasped his, intertwining their fingers.

“Three,” Tony said. “You’re doing good, Steve. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not real. You’re at home.”

Home was…home was…

“Can you say four for me?”

“Four,” Steve said. This was home. The tower. Tony and Bruce and Rhodey and Pepper and—

“Five,” Tony continued. “The year is 2012. You’re at Stark Tower. Clint wants to call it Avengers Tower because he’s an asshole.”

Steve let out a breathy laugh at that and the grin Tony gave him was beatific. “Six,” Steve said.

“See, we’re almost done. Seven. Keep on breathing for me. That’s my man,” Tony said. He reached up to smooth back some of Steve’s hair from his forehead. Steve leaned into the touch, savoring the press of skin against skin, using it as an anchor to the present. _This_ was his present. 2023 wouldn’t come for another eleven years. _This_ was his present.

“Eight.”

“Nine.”

“Ten.”

At the final number, Tony let out a sigh of relief. They had managed to get his breathing under control and now Steve was just tired and hungry and wouldn’t be opposed to eating the entire pot of chicken tikka masala by himself before passing out right then and there on the kitchen floor.

“As entertaining as that would be, soldier,” Tony said, “that wouldn’t be fair to the rest of us.”

Steve flushed. He hadn’t realized he had said that out loud. God, how out of it was he?

Bruce stretched a hand out to him, “Come on, Cap,” he said. “Let’s get some food into you.” In a surprising show of strength, Bruce pulled Steve to his feet and helped walk him over to the dining table that had been set for three.

Gingerly, Steve sat down at the table. “There we go,” Bruce said softly. “Tony and I can handle the rest.”

“He’ll give us food poisoning,” Steve said.

“I think if gamma radiation didn’t kill me, undercooked chicken won’t stand a chance,” Bruce said wryly.

Steve chuckled then propped his elbows up on the table to rest his head in his hands. He was okay. He was okay. He was okay.

* * *

“You are _not_ okay.”

Steve glared at Brita from where he sat across the same wooden table they had first convened at what seemed like decades ago. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Brita.”

He didn’t know when he started considering an ancient being one of his closest friends but he figured between literal gods and talking raccoons, Brita was most definitely on the more normal side of the spectrum.

She wore rich emerald green robes this time that brought out the magnificent blue of her eyes. One leg was crossed in front of the other as she leaned forward, propping her head up with one arm on the table. Steve’s hands itched for charcoal and paper.

“You’re welcome, Steve. You know you can always trust me to tell you the _truth_ ,” she said, stressing the last word. “I strongly suggest you get therapy.”

She waved her fingers lazily and her teacup refilled itself (black tea this time with a dollop of honey).

At first, Steve didn’t want to go near the New York Sanctum with a ten foot pole, but in those early weeks after the Battle of New York before he and Tony had had their breakthrough, Steve had ached desperately for a friend. And seeing as his current friends had still been stuck in their “Oh my God, it’s Captain America” phase, his options were sorely limited. He actually liked Brita. She had a sharp wit to her that Steve enjoyed. One moment he’d be peacefully drinking his tea and the next nearly choking on it as his brain would register whatever Brita had said.

“I don’t necessarily think my life experiences are going to be relatable to anyone else,” Steve said.

“Are you sure? Survivor’s guilt. Panic attacks. Avoidance. That all sounds relatable to me,” she said, sipping primly at her tea. “Just because you came about your trauma in a more unique way than others doesn’t make it any more or less valid.”

Trauma. Steve was all too familiar with that word, having used it many times himself in the original timeline (or prime-line as he was beginning to think of it) after the Decimation. The support group had seemed like it had happened ages ago. Steve had…liked it. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but it had allowed for him to help others in a way he had failed to do as Captain America.

“If not a therapist, than at least a support group of some sort,” she said. “Pity, there isn’t a support group for superheroes.”

Steve furrowed his brow. A support group for superheroes…wasn’t a bad idea. Not at all.

“Cognitive behavioral therapy? Emotional support animal?”

Steve held up his hands. “I’ll think about it. Just…let me figure this out for myself, okay?”

Brita’s brilliant blue eyes softened. “Believe it or not, Mr. Rogers, I’m starting to care about your well-being.”

Arching a brow, Steve said, “Oh, really?”

“Really.”

“Biggest mistake of your life. I’m quite the handful.”

“Oh trust me, I know.”

* * *

“Can you pass me a towel?”

Steve passed the nearest towel, already stained with grease, to Tony in silence, choosing instead to focus on Tony in his natural habitat. Steve’s bike had been acting up for a few days now and he had remembered Tony’s offer to work on it three months ago and figured, why not? He had always wanted to see Tony’s workshop and his bike was on the fritz, why not kill two birds with one stone?

“She’s been halting,” Steve had said, refusing to look Tony in the eyes. It was hard to ever since the incident at dinner. He knew the others didn’t fault him, but he couldn’t help but be embarrassed.

Tony had nearly jumped for joy at the chance to mess around with his bike and soon after breakfast that morning, Steve had wheeled her up to Tony’s workshop.

“Hey, girl,” Tony had said, running a hand across the bike’s handlebars as if it were a startled horse. “Let’s see if I can fix you up.”

And so here they were, Tony’s arms covered in a layer of motor oil and sweat, his long, fluffy hair curling in the heat of the workshop. He looked so at ease, wearing nothing but a dark tank top and sweatpants and bobbing his head lightly to some AC/DC song or another that blasted over the workshop’s in-ceiling speakers.

“Thank you, Tony,” Steve said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them.

“No need to thank me, Cap,” Tony said. “I’m not really a bike man, but getting to work on a beaut like this? An absolute treasure. I’m gonna need you to shift her into neutral.”

Steve did as he was told and shifted the gears. “Now what?” he asked.

“Look for the choke,” Tony said. “Once you find it, open it. Keep the throttle closed otherwise you’ll flood the engine.”

He followed Tony’s instructions down to the very last word, and Tony turned the key in the ignition. “Start your engine,” Tony said.

Steve held down the clutch and pushed the start button and with a beautiful, satisfying purr, his bike roared back to life.

Tony whooped clapping his hands together as DUM-E did celebratory laps around the workshop. “Damn, I’m good. Knew all she needed was a choke.”

“Thank you,” Steve said again with a bright smile.

“If you need anything else, let me know,” Tony said, wiping his hands off on a towel. Steve should have taken that as his cue to leave but something was holding him back. He didn’t want to go just yet.

“Hey, Tony?” he asked, not even sure what he was going to say.

“Hmm?”

“…Why didn’t you do this?” Steve asked. “Be a mechanic? You certainly have the skill.”

Tony looked down, slowly taking a seat on the nearest work bench. “Cap, I’ve been asking myself that for years.”

Steve remained silent, sure that Tony was going to say more.

“I’m…not sure how Howard was in the 40s but,” Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “By the time I was born, I don’t even think you would’ve recognized him. He was…cold. Calculating. Everything he did was for the sake of the company. And when I…when I started exhibiting signs of my genius…the things I could do…the things I could create, and at such a young age, too…everything he wanted me to do also started being for the sake of the company.”

“It’s all I’ve known. Building things. Taking them apart and putting them back together better than I found it. Circuit boards, car engines, bots, AIs…weapons.”

“And,” Steve began slowly, “once Howard knew you could make weapons—”

“Suddenly they were the only thing I was making,” Tony finished. “Until this,” he said, gesturing all around him. “Until Iron Man. Until this team.”

“And now you can be a mechanic.”

Tony shrugged. “If I ever give up Iron Man, and I don’t think I will, not now, anyway, then maybe. It’s not like I’m hurting for the money.”

“Tony,” Steve whispered. “I don’t think you could give up Iron Man even if you wanted to.”

Tony smiled, a soft, bitter thing. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

And that’s what worried him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah!! I'm sorry this was late but work literally kicked my ass last week and I could not write to save my life. On the upside though, this chapter was a bit longer and fluffier so hopefully that makes up for it. Chapter Four might also be a bit late but I'm going to try to stick to updating on Sundays as much as possible. Thank you to everyone who's still with me and for everyone who's just now finding this story, welcome! Be prepared for pain! Anyway, y'all know the drill, comments and kudos are much appreciated. Follow me on [tumblr](https://www.imperialstark.tumblr.com) for more stony/marvel content. I love you all! <3 <3


	4. four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets help. Meanwhile, Tony and Pepper's relationship is on the rocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Marvel or the MCU but if I did, it would go a little something like this.  
> I'm sorry this is so late but I'm going to try to get back on track! A little warning for this chapter. Spoiler alert, Steve has another panic attack. If something like that might trigger you, it starts at  
>  **The words had hit him hard in his chest, almost as if Tony had actually dealt him a physical blow and suddenly Steve was falling deep into the clutches of his traitorous mind.**  
>  and ends at  
>  **A current of air began to blow, cooling Steve’s heated skin. “…Thank you, JARVIS,” he said tiredly. “Can you…not tell Tony about this?”**  
>  Happy reading!

He couldn’t sleep.

It seemed like after his panic attack, the flood gates had opened and everything he had been pushing to the back of his mind to deal with later, decided _now_ was the perfect time to bombard him. The nightmares had been abstract at first, nothing but darkness and him waking up sweaty and on edge. But then they started taking on shapes. Faces. Memories. So many memories. Memories from both timelines swirled round and round in his brain until some mornings he couldn’t remember _when_ he was. He saw Tony’s face, ashen and filthy as the light faded from his eyes. He saw Natasha, lying at the bottom of a ravine, her neck bent at an unnatural angle and usual bright green eyes dull and unseeing. He saw Bucky falling away to dust, falling off the train, always falling.

It wasn’t until one night, when he, Tony, Bruce, and Rhodey had been playing a simple game of cards, did Steve acknowledge that there _may_ have been something wrong.

The night had started off well enough. Rhodey had been in town for an entire week and the entire mood in the tower had lifted because of it. Tony had immediately demanded that the other man cancel his reservation at his hotel and to stay with them in the tower until he had to leave. Rhodey had protested but Tony had given him his patented Tony Stark Pout™ and Rhodey was a goner. They had spent the entire week goofing around the tower like little kids. Rhodey had sworn his revenge on Tony for pelting him with eggs during their first (of many) food fights, and had retaliated by pouring glitter into Tony’s beard oil, with help from Steve. Tony’s howl of outrage that next morning could practically be heard across the top three floors of the tower, only drowned out by Rhodey’s victorious cackle. Steve loved every moment of it.

On his last night in the tower, Rhodey had proposed a poker game which (in true Avengers fashion) turned into a bloodthirsty competition where every man was for himself.

“How the hell do you have such a good poker face?” Tony had said after Steve had won three games in a row. The dining room lights glinted off a stray fleck of glitter in his beard.

“I know, right? He seems so wholesome,” Rhodey said and threw down his cards.

“Aw, come on boys, you should know better,” Steve had replied, dragging the pot toward him.

“It’s the Cap shtick,” Bruce said. “It has to be.”

“You might be onto something, Brucie,” Tony had replied. “Who would believe that dear old Cap just swindled us?”

“You can trust me, Tony,” Steve said.

“Nope. No trust. Zero. Zip. Nada. Liar.”

The words had hit him hard in his chest, almost as if Tony had actually dealt him a physical blow and suddenly Steve was falling deep into the clutches of his traitorous mind.

He vaguely recalled the others calling his name but their voices had faded to a dull roar in the back of his head. Tony’s words had sent Steve backward in time. One moment he had been sitting at the dining table, next he was at the Compound that wouldn’t exist for another three years and Tony was laying into him with barely repressed rage. He could feel himself falling, drifting listlessly in the restless sea of his mind.

The others had noticed his sudden silence and Steve _hated_ the concern in their gazes. He mumbled some excuse or another—he couldn’t be bothered to come up with a good one—and pushed away from the dining table, striding, damn near running to the elevator. As the doors slid to a close, Steve felt himself sinking to the floor. His heart pounded away in his rib cage like a prisoner begging to escape his cell. Short, wheezy breaths escaped his lips.

“Captain Rogers?” JARVIS said. Steve swore he heard a hint of concern in his voice. “ I believe you are experiencing another panic attack. Would you like me to get Mr. Stark?”

“No,” Steve gasped out. “Don’t get Tony. He can’t—” Steve wheezed. “He can’t know. None of them can.”

“Captain—”

“I said no, JARVIS!”

Had JARVIS had lungs, no doubt he would have sighed in that moment. “…Very well, Captain. In that case I will try my best to help you.”

A hologram was projected onto the doors. “Captain Rogers, please try to breathe in time with this video.”

The video started. At first it was just a solid black line but as Steve tried his best to heed the AI’s advice and pay attention to the video, it unfolded itself until suddenly Steve was looking at a triangle, then a square, then a pentagon, and so on so forth until it collapsed back into a single point.

“Breathe through your nose, exhale through your mouth,” JARVIS instructed.

Steve inhaled as the line began to extend again, holding once it reached its final shape, and exhaled as it began to fold back onto itself. He repeated the exercise for what felt like hours until his heart beat reached its resting rate and the tremor in his hands started to subside. A current of air began to blow, cooling Steve’s heated skin. “…Thank you, JARVIS,” he said tiredly. “Can you…not tell Tony about this?”

JARVIS hesitated before saying, “Of course, Captain Rogers. But only if you agree to seek out help.”

“Look at you, bargaining,” he said with an tired chuckle, more a huff of air, really. “Tony would be proud.”

“I learned from the best,” JARVIS sniffed. “Mr. Stark himself can be quite persuasive when he wants to be.

Steve sighed, leaning his head against the cool metal walls. “Don’t I know it. JARVIS can you take me to my floor?”

“With pleasure, Captain.”

* * *

 Steve Rogers had gone toe to toe with Nazis and aliens and literal _gods_ , yet the thought of walking into the little two story building daunted him.

He was in Brooklyn, oddly enough, and the brownstone turned art studio _looked_ unassuming but Steve of all people knew that looks were deceiving. He had finally caved and Brita (he hated when she was right) had slipped him a pamphlet for a local art therapy session during their last morning tea time.

“You don’t have to commit to it,” she had said. “But _please_ give it a chance.”

And so here he was. It’s not like he had _no_ experience with therapy; he had observed a few of Sam’s sessions at the VA and led his own support group after the Decimation but he had never done something like this. He had never been the patient. And that’s what he was, wasn’t he? A patient? Because his mental illness was just that, an illness. And it didn’t make sense to let a physical illness like a cold or the flu go untreated, did it? Why would a mental illness be any different?

When Steve had received the serum, a small part of him had thought— _hoped_ —that it meant he wouldn’t fall ill ever again. Steve had far too many memories of lying in hospital beds, hacking up his lungs or burning with fever and even more memories of refusing treatment altogether just so he and Bucky could make that month’s rent. The promised healing factor wasn’t the only reason Steve had agreed to the procedure but it sure did play a part in his decision. He remembered thinking that he wouldn’t be a burden anymore. That he could help people without his body holding him back. But it seemed like the serum couldn’t cure everything.

 _No_ , he thought. _I have to do that myself_.

Steeling himself, hands clenched into fist at his sides, Steve took that first step and prayed for strength.

A short, middle-aged woman answered his knock almost immediately, leading him over to a makeshift circulation desk with a kind smile. The brownstone was a two story building that been built in the earlier 20th century and remodeled about two years ago for a more contemporary look. The building was outfitted with large bay windows allowing for golden shafts of sunlight to illuminate the house and bounce off the freshly polished cherry wood floors. After signing in, he was told to take the stairs and the first room on the left was where his session would take place. Only three other people had attended the session. They all sat on the opposite side of the room, facing the doorway so Steve’s form was immediately under their scrutiny as he walked through the door.

One woman, who introduced herself as Chris, had shoulder length black hair and a prosthetic arm. The man with sandy-blonde hair in a buzz-cut called himself Jackson. He seemed to be a bit older (physically, anyway) than Steve and sat with his shoulders hunched forward as if he were trying to make himself smaller.

The final patient was another woman, named Hailey, who couldn’t have been no older than twenty-one. Their therapist, AJ was a sprightly woman with dark blue hair cut into a pixie cut and wide, innocent looking eyes. Once they had all introduced themselves, AJ had thrown her hands out wide and said, “Welcome to art therapy! And yes, it is a valid form of therapy, your doctor wasn’t pulling your leg.”

That had gotten a few chuckles of them. AJ’s grey eyes seemed to brighten as she took in their laughter. “You guys actually laughed!” She said ecstatically. “You would not _believe_ how hit or miss that joke is.”

“I liked it,” Jackson said with a small grin. “Not too many people joke around me these days,” he added.

Hailey nodded in agreement. “It’s like everyone thinks you forgot how to laugh after…” she trailed off.

AJ held up her hands. “No need to continue, I know exactly what you mean. And you know what, for every person it’s different. Some people are still capable of joking or having fun it’s just _harder_ to relax, you know?”

And it _was_ harder for Steve to relax. “It’s like,” he spoke up, “you’re constantly on edge. Just waiting for the other foot to drop and for everything to go wrong.”

“That’s exactly it,” Chris said, pointing at him. “Sometimes I find myself smiling at something or laughing at a joke and my brain freezes like, ‘Why are you smiling? Why are you laughing? Pay attention! You’re in danger!’”

“And that’s where I come in,” AJ said. She turned to look at every single one of them and said, “At the end of the day, my main goal is for you guys to walk out of this room feeling relaxed and _good_ about yourselves. You deserve to laugh. You deserve to smile. You deserve to be _happy_.”

Steve looked down, unable to meet AJ’s eyes. It was like she spoke with Steve in her mind. He could see the earnestness in her eyes, how truly she believed that they deserved to be happy. It blew his mind that somebody, a stranger, really, wanted so desperately for him to be happy when he could barely muster up the desire himself.

“And lucky for you guys,” she said with a toothy grin, “you’ve got me to help you out.”

Their first assignment was a simple one, given that not many of them aside from Steve had much experience with art.

“I’m gonna start you off easy,” AJ said. “I, like the ninety-year old grandma I am, am a hoarder. And because I’m a hoarder, I have a crap-load of magazines.” AJ heaved two big cardboard boxes onto the tables that had been provided for them. “I want you all to look through this magazines and try to find pictures that speak to you. Things that remind you of yourself, how you view yourself, how you think _other_ people view you, and throw it all together into a collage.”

Hailey reach for a box sifting through the magazines until she found a few that were to her liking and got to work. Conversation had started out slowly at first, usually a murmur for scissors or someone whispering to pass them the glue. An indie song played softly on the bluetooth speaker AJ had brought with her; a woman’s light, breathy voice echoed around the room and Steve felt an ease within himself that he hadn’t felt in years as he idly flipped through magazines. AJ had also chosen some magazines but Steve could see her glance up every now and then to observe them. As they all searched for pictures, AJ had broken the silence with a question; “If you don’t mind me asking,” she said. “Aside from your doctor, what brought you all to art therapy?”

It was like someone had paused a movie with the way Steve and all the others seemed to freeze at the exact same moment.

“That’s okay,” AJ said, seeing their discomfort. “No need to answer me right now.”

Chris had spun the scissors in her hands a few times, a nervous tic Steve assumed, before explaining, “I served in Iraq about a year ago. I was a combat medic and…my unit….we were…we were scouting ahead and,” she paused.

“You don’t need to finish if you don’t want to,” AJ said.

“No, no it’s fine,” Chris said and set down her scissors. “There was a stray mine. We drove over it and I remembered being surrounded by fire. Fire and dust and smoke.”

Seeing her bravery, Jackson cleared his throat. “I also served in Iraq. Para-rescue. I got shot down deep in enemy territory. The bullets had nearly caught me in my femoral artery.”

Chris placed her hand on Jackson’s shoulder who squeezed it in return. ““An inch to the right and I probably would’ve bled out.”

“I’m actually not a veteran,” Hailey said, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “I was…I was in Manhattan,” she stated looking directly at Steve, “on the day of the invasion. It was the first day of my internship and I was so excited.”

“I was heading out to lunch when one of the…ships? That kind of looked like whales? It um,” she looked down. “It crashed into the building. I was stuck under the rubble for twelve hours.”

Once Hailey was finished, they all looked at Steve expectantly. “Believe it or not crash landing a bomb-laden aircraft into the Arctic and waking up in the future _does_ leave mental scars,” Steve said, bringing about a few more chuckles.

“Thank you all for sharing,” AJ whispered. “I just want you to know while you’re in this room, you will _never_ have to talk about anything or answer any questions that make you feel uncomfortable, if you don’t want to.”

They settled back into the easy rhythm until AJ said, “Time’s up! Now there’s two ways we can do this. We can either do a round robin, if you guys are comfortable with sharing with each other. Or,” she looked around, “I can meet with all of you privately so we can discuss your work.”

“I like the first one,” Chris said, biting her lip. “Hell, you all know why I’m here already, what else do I have to hide?”

“Is that cool with everyone?” AJ asked and at their agreement, she pumped her fist. “Sweet! I can’t wait to see what you guys did! Who wants to go first?”

“I’ll go first,” Steve said. His collage was simple. Only a handful of images had called out to him as AJ put it. He had thought about how he viewed himself and how other people viewed him and had split his images in half. On one side, he had a bunch of patriotic pictures of the flag and hard-faced soldiers at attention. On the right side, he had darker-toned pictures; pictures of clocks and storms and cliffs and right in the middle sat an image of his shield that he had managed to find after some serious digging.

“Ooh,” AJ said as he flipped his page for everyone to see. “I’m getting huge duality of man vibes. I’m assuming the left side is how you think other people view you?”

Steve nodded.

“And the left side…those are things that remind you of you?”

Steve had nodded again.

“Hmm,” AJ had said. “I’m seeing a lot of soldiers on that left side. Is that what you think people see you as? A soldier? _Just_ as soldier?”

“More like _the_ soldier,” Steve had said. “No one ever sees me for me. And I’m thankful for the super serum and the chance it gave me to do good but,” Steve hesitated. “I wish people saw me for me. Not some untouchable ideal man.”

“The pressure must be unreal,” AJ said. “You probably didn’t get much time to yourself, either. Especially now. But Steve, what you’re feeling is perfectly valid. At the end of the day, being a soldier is a job, right? A very noble job but still a job?”

Steve nodded slowly. “It is. It is a job.”

“And none of us want to be defined by our jobs,” AJ replied. “I’m an art therapist and that’s a part of my identity but it’s not the only part of my identity. Art therapy is important to me but I’m more than just my occupation. And so are you. You are all more than your occupations, just like you’re all _more_ than you’re trauma.”

AJ’s words hit him so deeply in his gut, he had to sit back in his seat. He was _more_ than a soldier. He was _more_ than his trauma. The concept was damn near foreign to him. For so long, Steve’s identity had been Captain America, the ideal man, the perfect soldier, and to think that it didn’t have to be the only important thing about him didn’t even cross his mind.

The rest of the session had gone smoothly after that, Chris and Jackson and Hailey all sharing their collages and getting feedback from AJ.

“One session down!” AJ said. “Fifteen more to go and I’m so goddamn excited for all of them.”

On his way home from the session, he felt significantly lighter than he had in years.

* * *

While leaving the building after his second therapy session, Steve found a dog. Not just any dog; he was sure it was the cutest dog in all of New York.

“Hello,” he had cooed at the tan-and-white pup as it had wiggled it’s way out of the cardboard box he and all of his brothers and sisters were living in. It’s fluffy ears flopped forward as it struggled to find its balance on its too big paws.

“They’re good pups,” the man beside the box had said, puffing on a cigarette. “They cost a pretty penny though.”

Two bright brown eyes had gazed up at him and in hindsight, Steve _swore_ the puppy was commanding them to well up with tears. He observed the puppy more carefully and didn’t see what looked like bite marks or fleas but there was a definite gauntness to him that shouldn’t have been there. He looked so sad and hungry and looking at the other three pups in the box, all yipping pitifully, they were probably in the same sorry state.

And so Steve had ended up going home to the tower with a box full of puppies and a significantly lighter wallet.

“Absolutely not,” Tony said as soon as he saw him. “The tower isn’t a kennel, Steve.”

“But look,” Steve had said, lifting up the dog that had stumbled out to greet him. “He’s happy to meet you! Say hi to Dodger.”

“Oh God,” Tony groaned. “You named him. You’ve gone and named him and now you’re attached.”

“Yep,” Steve said brightly. “So can we keep them?”

“We?” Tony arched a brow. “ _You_ found them, you take care of them.”

“Okay, I’ll compromise. How about we talk to everyone we know, and see if we can set the other dogs up with nice homes.”

“But you still want to keep that one?”

“If by that one, you mean Dodger? Yes.”

Tony stared at Steve.

Steve stared at Tony.

Dodger let out a bark.

“Fine,” Tony sighed, before pointing a finger at Dodger. “Don’t blow this, buddy.”

Dodger licked at Tony’s finger who grimaced and wiped the slobber off on his jeans. “Gross.”

“Adorable,” Steve said.

* * *

Tony, Steve decided, was a goddamn hypocrite.

Finding homes for the other dogs had gone smoothly, with two Stark Industries employees taking home one a piece and Clint, surprisingly, taking the last pup.

“Clint, I once saw you pour coffee into a bowl of cereal and call it breakfast soup,” Tony had said in disbelief, “and you want a dog?”

“Dogs are easier to take care of than humans,” Clint had replied, cuddling his pup close to him. Tony had just face palmed and waved Clint away.

“I don’t want that dog anywhere near my workshop!” Tony had said to Steve who had been too busy giving Dodger belly rubs.

Fast forward two weeks later and Tony was teaching Dodger to fetch tools from across the workshop. DUM-E had been ecstatic to have another friend in the workshop and had taken to racing with Dodger to see who could get the tool Tony needed the fastest while Tony threatened to give DUM-E and Dodger to a community college and kennel respectively.

“They’re absolute disasters,” Tony had said fondly one day to Steve, when Dodger and DUM-E had bumped into each other while trying to grab a wrench.

“What was that about not wanting Dodger in your workshop?” Steve had said in a matter of fact voice.

“Oh, shut up, Winghead.”

Steve had just laughed and jostled Tony’s side. “I’m not saying I told you so…”

“Oh, you’re so saying ‘I told you so.’ Your whole body language reeks of ‘I told you so.’”

“Does not.”

“Does too.”

Okay, it did. But Steve would never admit that.

Having Dodger had given Steve something of a routine. Every morning on the weekends, he’d wake up to a face full of fur and dog kisses which really did something to boost one’s mood. Dodger, whenever he felt particularly energetic, would occasionally accompany him on his morning runs. The afternoons would be spent in Tony’s workshop, Steve doodling in his sketchbook, while Dodger and DUM-E would play fetch with each other when Tony was too occupied to throw the ball himself. Friday evenings were devoted to couch cuddles where Dodger, all tuckered out from his day, would clamber onto Tony’s expensive Italian leather couch just to plop his body down on Steve and Tony’s laps while they watched a movie. Between volunteering at Habitat for Humanity, “catching up” on the 21st century with the help of his friends, and going to therapy, Steve kept himself busy and dare he say it…he was sort of happy.

That feeling of anxiety was still there and perhaps it would never truly go away but AJ’s words would ring in his mind. “You are more than your trauma,” and “You deserve to be happy,” were constant mantras of his these days. He wasn’t healed completely, not by a long-shot. He still had bad days where he could barely drag himself out of bed. He had days where the guilt and the pain would well up inside of him and nearly made him choke but he was _trying_ , and really that’s all that mattered.

But while Steve seemed to be thriving, Tony was slipping. It had been three months since the Battle of New York and Steve knew the other man tried his hardest to hide it, but Tony was hardly getting any sleep. Tony’s dark circles were permanent features on his face now, along with a cup (or twelve) of coffee in his hands. He also spent nearly all of his time in the workshop. Before, Tony had at least come out of the workshop to eat (unhealthily but hey, Steve wasn’t complaining. At least he was eating.) or to catch a few hours of sleep on something other than the worn couch in his workshop. But now, now it would be actual _days_ before Steve would see Tony outside of his workshop. Steve and Dodger were still allowed down their, thankfully, but Tony was…different. Jittery. On edge. Traumatized.

Steve could see the signs clearly because they were also a part of him. The trouble sleeping, the jumpiness, the hyper-vigilance. Tony had some form of post-traumatic stress. And if he continued down this route, it was only going to get worse. If Steve’s memory served him right, it _did_ get worse.

He would never forget the terror and rage that had seized him as he had watched Tony’s mansion fall into the ocean on live television, and if he could help it, he wouldn’t, couldn’t let it happen again.

* * *

It was Friday, movie night, and Tony had been in the workshop for twelve hours straight. Steve knew something was _wrong_. Tony never missed movie night these days, not even after spending entire nights the day before in his workshop. He’d always show up, even if he ended up falling asleep five minutes into the movie, his head lolling onto Steve’s shoulder. Steve had an awful feeling those nights were the only times Tony actually got sleep.

He crept up the stairs slowly, not wanting to startle Tony. It was strangely silent as he made his way to the workshop, the stairs creaking with each step. Usually Tony had some rock song or another blaring as he worked. Honestly, sometimes Steve was amazed that the man wasn’t deaf. The windows of the workshop were completely blacked out.

Frowning, Steve entered in his override code and braced himself for whatever he was about to see.

At first nothing seemed off. Tony was hunched over his work desk fiddling with his gauntlet. Usually DUM-E would be sat right next to him, but the bot had rolled himself into a corner on the opposite side of the room. A half empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat on the table beside Tony.

“Stupid fucking thing,” Steve could hear Tony saying more clearly as he crept closer.

“Tony?” Steve said warily.

Tony jumped up and whirled around, dropping the gauntlet and the screwdriver he had been holding. “Jesus,” he mumbled, his voice all tight and hoarse. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Steve winced. “Sorry, Tony it’s just…you’ve been up here for a while and I was…I was worried about you.”

Tony furrowed his brow before closing his eyes and sighing. “It’s Friday isn’t it?”

“Yeah. It is.”

Tony groaned. “God, I’m sorry, Steve. I swear I didn’t mean to stand you up.” He sat back down on his workbench, cupping his forehead with one of his hands. “This goddamn gauntlet has been giving me trouble all night.”

“Tony,” Steve began, stepping deeper into the room. “I don’t think it’s just the gauntlet that’s giving you trouble.” He motioned to the whiskey bottle. “You’re drinking in the workshop. You never drink in the workshop.”

“You don’t know everything about me, Rogers,” Tony snapped.

Steve stepped back, trying not to show that he was hurt. He _knew_ Tony was at his worst right now, drunk and snappy and full of self-loathing, and he would say anything to push him away. “Tony,” he said. “You don’t have to do that. Not with me.”

“I’m not doing anything,” Tony replied.

“You’re deflecting. Trying to push me away.” Steve stepped forward until he was about a foot away from Tony. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong.”

This close, Steve could see that Tony’s eyes were glossy and bloodshot as if he’d been crying. He could smell the liquor on Tony’s breath and the desire to dump the bottle of Jack Daniel’s down the nearest sink overcame him.

Biting his lip, Tony crossed his arms in front of himself like he was trying to hold himself together. “Fine. It’s…it’s Pepper. She and I got into a fight.”

“You and Pepper got into a fight? Over what?”

Tony chuckled, the laugh sounding hollow in his chest. “Over you, actually. And Bruce.”

Confusion rippled over him. Why in the world would Pepper and Tony fight over _him_?

“She, uh,” Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “She misses me. She thinks I’m spending too much time in New York.”

“But don’t you two fly out to see each other every other Saturday?”

Tony shook his head. “It’s not the same. Long distance is hard even with things like Skype to help ease the distance. Steve, I…I really want to work things out with Pepper, I _do_ … but I like it here. I like working with Bruce and the movie nights and the team dinners and…I like you. Once you get past all the hard assery and the spangles…you’re not that bad to be around, Winghead.”

“Okay, first of all, hard assery is most definitely not a word,” Steve retorted. “And second, I like you too.” Steve placed a hand on Tony’s shoulder and lowered his voice, “I know you like it here but Tony, you love Pepper don’t you?”

Tony responded at once. “Of course I do.”

“Then make it work. Speaking as someone who missed his chance…don’t let this get away.” Thoughts of a cabin on a lake and a child with her father’s eyes flashed through Steve’s mind. “You have a real shot at happiness with Pepper.”

The bright blue glow of the arc reactor illuminated the hollows of Tony’s face. Tony’s unstyled hair, fell into his doe brown eyes that shone with unshed tears. Tony hadn’t even shaved, his usual neat goatee fuller and unkempt at the edges. “You think so? You think there’s a chance?”

“You’re a genius, Shellhead,” Steve said softly. “I’m sure that big brain of yours will figure something out.”

* * *

During breakfast the next morning, Tony dropped a bomb on them that rattled Steve to his core.

“I’m moving back to Malibu,” Tony had said in lieu of a greeting when he stepped into the kitchen.

Bruce had damn near spat out his cup of coffee and Steve hands fumbled the plates filled with pancakes he had been carrying to the dining table.

“You’re _what_?” Bruce said once he had stopped choking on his coffee.

“I’m moving back to Malibu,” Tony repeated, shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet. “To be with Pepper,” he clarified. He had cleaned himself up since last night. His hair was gelled in its usual coif and he had trimmed the edges of his beard.

“Tony that’s…” Bruce began.

“Not a good idea,” Steve said, panic slamming into him like a tidal wave. Tony wasn’t supposed to go back to Malibu, not when he nearly _died_ when Steve wasn’t there to protect him.

“Steve,” Tony said, looking at him with wide eyes. “You _told_ me to make things work with Pepper.” Spreading his hands out, Tony said, “This is me making things work. Look, I thought about it all night and called her this morning and she agreed to it. I’m trying to do the right thing, Cap.”

“You didn’t even think to talk this through with us, first?”

“That’s what I’m doing right now! I thought…I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“Tony, you of all people definitely deserve happiness and I want that for you so bad, but going to Malibu…call it a gut feeling but I don’t think that’s gonna end well.”

A muscle jumped in Tony’s jaw. “A gut feeling, huh? That’s your excuse?”

“Tony, if you go, we’ll be down to only having two Avengers in New York. I— _We_ can’t afford to lose you.”

Tony let out a bitter laugh. “Haven’t you heard, Cap? Iron Man, yes, Tony Stark not recommended? I thought Natasha’s report was pretty telling. You’ll be fine. Rhodey has the War Machine armor and JARVIS can pilot any of the suits.”

“Natasha’s report was bullshit and you know it,” Steve said, his voice beginning to rise. “Tony, we need _you_ just as much as we need the armor.”

“I’m sorry, Cap.” Tony shook his head. “But I can’t stay here. Not anymore. It was fun while it lasted.” He gestured to Steve and Bruce, “You two are both welcome to continue to stay here, but I gotta go.” And with that, Tony stalked out of the room, leaving Steve and Bruce behind.

“So that’s it then?” Bruce asked once the tension had finally dissipated. “And then there were two?”

“And then there were two,” Steve echoed.

“I should’ve known,” Bruce muttered, slouching in his seat. “You know,” he mumbled, “I was _actually_ beginning to think that I could stay here. That I wouldn’t have to run. Guess not, huh?”

“Bruce, if you think this is about the Hulk—”

“It’s not about the Hulk. It’s about me. Just me. Every time I think I can settle down, everything always goes to the dogs. It’s like I jinxed myself.”

Steve’s heart sunk in his chest. “Bruce. Don’t do this to yourself. This isn’t your fault. It’s no one’s fault. Pepper and Tony have a good thing going on. I guess we just got comfortable up here.”

And Steve knew in his heart that he was right. They _had_ grown comfortable. Too comfortable. All of this time spent living in the bubble that was Stark Tower, Steve had forgotten about his mission. AJ had said he deserved happiness, but what had Steve done in this timeline to make that a reality? In that moment he knew what he had to do. He had a phone call to make.

* * *

That night as Steve packed up the small amount of items he had accumulated his short time in Stark Tower, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up like tiny pinpricks; He wasn’t alone.

“Life in the Gilded Tower wasn’t working for you?” Natasha said, leaning against his doorway.

Steve set down the shirt he had been folding. “It was working too well. Just figured SHIELD could use the extra help.”

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” Natasha said with a lazy salute. “Glad to officially have you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I'm sorry this chapter took forever but I can officially say I'm done with Act One and we're now moving into Act Two! I'm so happy you guys are loving the story so far (although you might not like today's chapter lol) but trust me it gets better. The next couple of chapters there's going to be a switch up in point of views but you guys will see Steve again soon, I promise. You all know the drill! Comments and kudos are much appreciated! Follow me on [tumblr](https://www.imperialstark.tumblr.com) for more stony/marvel content. See you all for the next chapter! I love you all!


	5. five. Tony's POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony deals with New York by refusing to talk about it at all. Pepper, Rhodey, and Happy express their concern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter is a little ~~four weeks~~ late but its complete now! I apologize for the brief hiatus but I wanted to get Tony's POV exactly right and after writing for Steve for so long, I may or may not have struggled. Before you guys start the chapter, you need to know a couple of things. 
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> **IMPORTANT INFORMATION. DO NOT SKIP.**
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> 1\. If you've been here from the very beginning you may have noticed that the rating has changed from Teen and Up to Explicit. That's because while developing this fic, I was debating on whether or not to include a possible sex scene in the story. I have now made up my mind and decided to include the sex scene but trust me it won't be for a _while_. I'll also put a content warning at the beginning of the chapter that the sex scene will be in so those of you who aren't into smut won't be subjected to it. For those of you who do enjoy smut, I literally already have the scene written out and it's a good one.
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> 2\. We have officially entered Phase 2 of the MCU in don't blink! These next few chapters are gonna be Tony's POV but don't worry Steve's POV might make an appearance.
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> 3\. I'm sure most of us have seen Iron Man 3 but I'm still going to do trigger warnings for Tony's anxiety attacks. In this chapter, the first one begins at **"There was a rushing in Tony's ears,"** and ends at **"He could’ve been imagining it, but JARVIS’ voice sounded tired to his ears."** Tony also has a nightmare that triggers him. The scene starts at **"He was running out of time."** and ends at **"As he fell down, down, down, he thought it was funny he could hear someone shouting his voice."**. If I missed any possible triggering moments, please let me know!
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> 4\. This chapter features some dialogue from Iron Man 3 so just as a precaution, I do **not** own Marvel or anything related to it. This fic is purely for entertainment purposes.
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> **END OF IMPORTANT INFORMATION**
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> Wow, this got long. But on with the chapter!

Tony loved music. He loved turning the volume all the way up until the floors were practically vibrating and the floor to ceiling windows of his workshop were quaking. Each note would sink its way into his skin, setting his blood alight and filling his head with noise until he could barely hear himself think. On days where his mind went into overdrive, drowning his thoughts out with music was a blessing. It was no secret that he loved classic rock the most; it was loud and intense and it had pissed Howard off which made it good in Tony’s book. Howard had called it delinquent music so obviously that meant Tony had to play it, full blast, at all times.

“Rock and roll ain’t noise pollution,” he sang under his breath. He envied the lyrical growl of Brian Johnson’s voice, Tony’s voice being much softer and smoother than his.

Bringing the needle gun to his forearm, without hesitating, Tony pulled the trigger, successfully injecting the micro repeater into his bloodstream.

“Forty-six.”

“You know, you could sound a bit more enthusiastic,” Tony said, reloading the needle gun in two rapid movements. “You sound like that impostor, Siri.”

“My apologies, sir,” JARVIS said dryly, or as dryly as an AI’s voice could be. “Would you like me to shout it next time?”

“You’re such a smart ass,” Tony replied. “Honestly, where do you get it from?”

“Oh, I have no idea, sir. There must be an anomaly in my coding.”

Tony rolled his eyes; trust his AI to be just as sarcastic as him. Had it not been directed at him, Tony would have been proud of how far JARVIS had come. His boy could express  _emotions_ now. JARVIS could switch the pitch of his voice to show a change in tone and could joke around with the best of them. He still remembered when JARVIS had been nothing but a line of code that he had spent all of his waking hours working on in a coffee-fueled, sleep-deprived haze.

Tony yelped as he injected himself once more.

“Sir, please may I request just a few hours to calibrate—”

“Nope,” Tony said, shooting himself with the needle gun one last time. “Forty- eight. Micro-repeater implanting sequence complete.”

If JARVIS had lungs, Tony knew he’d be sighing. “As you wish, sir. I’ve also prepared a safety briefing for you to entirely ignore.”

Tony wiped up the bright blots of blood that had welled up from where he had injected himself. It had taken him forty-eight micro-repeaters and two weeks of workshop binges, Tony only pausing to rest when he quite literally couldn’t keep his eyes open and had nearly burned himself (several times) with his soldering iron.

“Which I will,” Tony said. “Right, let’s do this—hey! DUM-E!”

The bot paused in its mission to sweep up the trash strewn across the floor of Tony’s workshop. “Hi, DUM-E. How did you get that cap on your head? You earned it.”

The aforementioned dunce cap had been jauntily placed on top of DUM-E’s robotic arm after he had knocked one of Tony’s gauntlets off of his workshop table. Normally, Tony would have written it off as DUM-E’s usual brand of clumsiness had he not been consecutively knocking stuff off of Tony’s table for four months. The bot had been acting up ever since Tony had returned to Malibu. DUM-E had reacted the same way when they had first moved to New York to live in Stark Tower. Or Avengers Tower as it was now being called. Which was funny seeing as there was currently no Avengers living in it at all.

Thor had never even gotten the chance to stay a night at the tower, instead still on the hunt for Loki. The thought of Loki on the loose, with the Tesseract no less, left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had had limited contact with the demigod, but the next time he saw him it would be too soon.

Clint and Natasha had only dropped by the tower occasionally, stopping in between missions for a few nights of rest before disappearing off to who knew where in the early morning. No, it had just been him, Bruce, and Steve.

And Tony…he had been happy. For a little while anyway.

He was happy now, though. The colder it had gotten in New York as the summer waned, the more he had missed the briny ocean air and the hot California sun. And Pepper was living with him now which was great, really. She’d spend her days at SI’s headquarters being the beautiful, badass CEO she was and when she’d come home, it would just be her and him. No Avengers. No Stark Industries. Just Pepper and Tony. They had date nights and teased each other and sent each other cute texts whenever they were missing each other. Of course there were some things he missed about New York, but Tony wouldn’t give up what he had with Pepper for the world. They were good. Tony was good.

DUM-E had retreated into a corner.

“Hey. Hey!” Tony said, getting the bot’s attention. “What are you doing in the corner? You know what you did. There’s blood on my mats, handle it.”

“Sir, may I remind you that you’ve been awake for nearly seventy-two hours.”

Tony walked (JARVIS would say strut but really, what did he know?) onto the platform that was positioned in the epicenter of his workshop.

“Focus up, ladies. Good evening and welcome to the birthing suite,” he said, spreading his arms wide. “I’m pleased to announce the imminent arrival of your bouncing, badass, baby brother.”

Tony looked over to his left where U had been left in charge of the camera. “Start tight and go wide, stamp in time. Mark 42 autonomous prehensile propulsion suit test. Initialize sequence.” Tony raised his hands and the suit hummed to life.

“Jarvis, drop my needle.”

The wail of Brian Johnson’s rendition of Rock and Roll Ain’t No Noise Pollution was replaced by a funky rendition of Jingle Bells. Tony closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. His hips took on a life of their own, swaying to the smooth rhythm.

“Alright, let’s do this,” he said and raised his arms toward the suit.

Nothing happened.

Tony tried again, grunting forcefully.

The suit pieces didn’t budge.

“Shit,” he said. He knocked on his forearm and raised his arm, willing the suit pieces to come to him. “Come on, baby.”

Almost as if it heard his plea, a gauntlet arose from the table and encased his hand. He looked down in wonder as the crimson metal began to engulf his arm until eventually his entire shoulder was suited up. Tony pointed his non-armored arm to the table and the other gauntlet quickly made its way to him, wrapping itself around his hand and arm.

Laughing, Tony said, “Alright, I think we got this. Send ‘em all, J.”

“With pleasure sir.”

A golden suit piece came to him, attaching itself to his leg. Almost immediately, another piece flew over at rapid speed, nearly hitting Tony in the head as it embedded itself into one of the glass panes protecting his old suits. Another piece jetted towards him and Tony, raising a gauntleted hand, knock it aside into a nearby set of pipes. He winced. Pepper was not gonna be happy when she saw that.

“Probably a little fast, slow it down. Slow it down just a—”

Tony ducked down, narrowly missing another piece. Before he could catch his breath, one piece slammed into his crotch, another hitting and enveloping his back, the force of it throwing him forward and off the platform. Tony yelped and fired his repulsors at just the right moment. “Cool it, will you JARVIS?” Any later and he would’ve been a Tony pancake.

When Tony righted himself, all that was left was his face plate. Tony narrowed his eyes. “Come on. I ain’t scared of you.”

Tony took a running start at the same time as the face plate, then on a whim, did a frontward flip, jet boots and all. For a brief moment, Tony was weightless, his hands seizing the face plate easily. The face plate snapped onto the rest of his helmet as Tony landed deftly in a crouch, his HUD flaring to life. “I’m the best.”

By the time Tony registered the sound of a stray suit piece firing up, it had already jetted his way, shooting into his back. Tony toppled forward, the suit falling to pieces around him. He tugged and yanked at his helmet until his head was free and surveyed the damage. Two of the glass panes sealing his suits away from the rest of the world had been shattered. Steam billowed steadily from the broken pipes embedded in the wall and…was that smoke?

He looked over at U. That was most definitely smoke. A fire had broken out, probably from one of the suit pieces and where was DUM-E? Still sweeping away in the corner. Of course.

“As always, sir, a _great_ pleasure watching you work.”

“You did that out of spite,” Tony said, getting to his feet. But in hindsight…maybe tinkering in his lab while running off of nothing but coffee and fumes may have been a safety hazard.

“Not out of spite, sir. Think of it as motivation for you to rest.”

“Sleep is for the weak, J.”

“…Captain Rogers would agree with me.”

And just like that, Tony’s witty retort died on the tip of his tongue. For four months, he had nearly successfully blocked out any and all thoughts of the tower and its occupants from his mind, instead choosing to throw himself into his work. Until now. Unwanted memories ambled through his mind. There had been food fights and movie nights and many other activities one would have expected a group of teenagers to partake in, not fully grown superheroes. Tony never would have expected Steve to engage in any of those aforementioned childish activities but hell, as Tony looked back, Steve was usually the one to initiate them. And Tony…he guessed he missed it. He missed Steve. And Bruce too. And little Dodger who had somehow burrowed his furry, floppy-eared backside into Tony’s heart.

It was lonelier in Malibu than he was wroth to admit. Especially in his workshop. Tony kept on waiting for Steve to wander down, sketchbook in one hand and a plate of food in the other. Those had been some of the best moments between them. Just the two of them in the beautiful chaos of Tony’s workshop, both of them lost in their respective art. Tony had never asked what Steve was drawing while he sat in the workshop, but whenever Tony had resumed working, he couldn’t help but get the sneaking suspicion that a pair of eyes was fixed resolutely on him the entire time. But why would Steve ever draw him? And in the workshop of all places?

Tony shook his head. “Well, Rogers isn’t here right now, is he? He’s…I don’t even know where the hell he is.”

Steve had called him a handful of times since Tony had moved. Tony never answered. Not a single one. But if Captain Steven Grant Rogers was anything, it was persistent, Tony could give him that. So Steve left voicemails. Tony listened to each one. They weren’t too long, usually about a minute and only consisted of updates on Steve’s life.

“Dodger won’t stop crying. I think he misses DUM-E,” Steve had said on one of the earlier voice-mails. “I guess playing fetch with me isn’t the same,” he had joked.

“I finally started Star Wars. Why does it start on episode four?” he had said in a later one.

“I…I probably shouldn’t be saying this. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re getting these, but, uh,” Tony had heard a ruffling sound, almost as if Steve had sighed into the phone receiver. “I’m leaving. For a SHIELD mission. Absolute radio silence. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take, but when I get back, I was hoping we could talk? In person?”

That one had been last week. And true to word, Tony hadn’t received any more voicemails. He just replayed the same ones over and over and over until he could practically repeat them verbatim. Was it weird? Maybe. But he was Tony Stark. He was allowed to be eccentric.

* * *

Murray’s Bar and Grill was the most popular beachside hole-in-the-wall this side of the Mississippi. The restaurant was a squat, low building made nearly entirely out of wood. Real fishing nets and life savers and fishing lures adorned the walls. Offering live music, greasy food, and cheap alcohol, all tied up with a magnificent view of the Pacific Ocean, it was easily the last place one would expect to find a billionaire. On a normal day, Tony couldn’t get enough of the place.

Today was not a normal day. (When was any day in his life normal?)

All the tables along the walls had been filled, leaving Tony and Rhodey to sit in the center of the restaurant. Tony could feel everyone’s eyes on him and Rhodey like they were bacteria meant to be examined under a microscope. He knew that he could say something and everyone’s eyes would snap away from them but then he’d look like the bad guy. He supposed it was fine seeing as everyone had been keeping their distance, although that still didn’t stop a prickling sensation from crawling up and down his neck.

Tony was uneasy. Not even seven months after the clusterfuck that was New York and the relative peace that had settled over America was being disturbed by the latest megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur; The Mandarin. The American public was left in mystified terror after the terrorist, seemingly arising from nowhere, had taken credit for the bombing of a military church in Kuwait.

“The Iron Patriot? Could that be any more of a propaganda piece?”

Rhodey looked frustrated, although some would argue that was his perpetual state while around Tony. “It tested well with focus groups, alright?”

Tony deepened his voice. “I am Iron Patriot,” he growled. “Surrender or suffer the wrath of I, the defender of truth, justice and the American way—”

“Listen, War Machine was a little too aggressive, alright? This sends a better message.”

Tony took off his ever present sunglasses, rolled his eyes, and poked Rhodey in his shoulder. “Okay, maybe War Machine is a little too on the nose. But you could’ve at _least_ kept the paint job.”

“Tony,” Rhodey said warningly.

“Alright fine,” he replied, raising his hands. “I surrender, Iron Patriot.” Tony lowered his hands and leaned in closer to Rhodey. “But…what’s really going on, Rhodey? With the Mandarin? Seriously, can we talk about this guy?”

Rhodey looked around before leaning in to meet Tony halfway. “It’s classified information, Tony.”

Tony raised a brow.

Rhodey sighed. “Okay, fine. There’ve been nine bombings.”

“ _Nine_?"

Rhodey shushed him. “Look, the public only knows about three. And Tony…nobody can identify a device. There’s no bomb casings. Not so much as a sliver.”

No casings? What kind of bomb left behind no casings? Even if the bombers were suicide bombers, there had to be some kind of debris or shrapnel left behind. Tony would know. He placed one of his hands over the arc reactor. If Rhodey noticed, he thankfully didn’t mention it.

“You know I can help, just ask,” Tony said instead. “I got a ton of new tech. I got a prehensile suit, I got a…I got a new bomb disposal. Catches explosions mid-air.”

Rhodey tilted his head to the side and looked at Tony. It was an all too familiar look and yet every time Tony saw it, he was filled with the worst kind of guilt and dread. No matter how old they got, that look without fail would make Tony feel like he was that fifteen year old scrawny shrimp of a kid alone at university and tearing himself apart because of it. On the rare nights Tony could still crawl back to the dorm hungover or strung out or both, Rhodey would give him that look and tell him everything would be okay in the morning.

As their friendship had progressed, Tony had started making an effort to take care of himself and he had seen the look less and less. But all of his progress went down the drain in the winter of 1991.

“When’s the last time you got a good night’s sleep?” Rhodey asked, shaking Tony out of his memories.

“Einstein slept three hours a year. Look what he did.” Tony was no stranger to deflecting. Hell, he could write the textbook and teach the class on the art of deflecting.

“People are concerned about you, Tony. I’m concerned about you.”

“You’re gonna come at me like that?”

Rhodey shook his head, saying, “No. No, look I’m not trying to be a dic—”

Two little kids had (thankfully) wandered up to their table. Tony amended his earlier thought; It was _great_ no one had decided to keep their distance.

“Tator,” Rhodey finished.

“Nice save,” Tony muttered under his breath. Rhodey elbowed him in his side.

“Do you mind signing my drawing?” The girl said, holding out said drawing to Tony.

“If Richard doesn’t mind.” Tony turned to look at Rhodey with the widest smile he could muster. “You alright with this, Dick?”

“Fine with me,” Rhodey said happily enough, but Tony knew he was probably going to pay for it later.

Tony looked down at the drawing and his heart nearly burst at the sight. The picture was a crude drawing of him in his suit with the nuke…strapped to his back? He squinted his eyes. The nuke was most definitely strapped to his back and the coloring of the suit was a bit off but Tony loved it anyway.

“Thank you…” he began.

“Erin,” the girl supplied with a toothy smile.

Tony picked up the bright fuchsia crayon the girl had brought with her and drew a speech bubble to where his mouth would be.

Vaguely, Tony could register Rhodey talking.

“Listen,” Rhodey said under his breath. “The Pentagon is scared. After what happened in New York…aliens, I mean come on—”

There was a rushing in Tony’s ears. New York. Rhodey had said the Pentagon was scared. Good. _Good_. They needed to be scared. _Tony_ was scared after what he had seen.

“They need to look strong,” Rhodey continued. “Stopping the Mandarin is priority, but it’s not—”

“It’s not superhero business, I get it,” Tony finished blandly. His hand shook as his grip on the crayon tightened. It was _fine_. Everything was _fine_.

“No, it’s not, quite frankly. It’s American business.”

“That’s why I said I got it,” Tony snapped. When Tony looked down, he had crushed the crayon into two. The rushing in his ears got even louder. Tony placed a hand over his face and closed his eyes.

Rhodey gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I broke the crayon,” he mumbled.

“Are you okay, Mr. Stark?” Erin asked.

“Take it easy, Tony,” Rhodey said steadily.

It was like he had been completely submerged in water. The world had dropped from beneath his feet and he was sinking or falling or both, both Rhodey and Erin’s voices coming out muffled and distorted. He couldn’t move no matter how hard he willed himself too. His hands and legs—everything—had shut down. Everything except his heart. No _that_ was working just fine. Perhaps _too_ fine; his heart was a battering ram, banging against his ribcage with a skull rattling force that had Tony wheezing.

The little boy leaned forward. “How did you get out of the wormhole?” he whispered.

Tony’s body seized, pushing away from the table with a strength that surprised even himself. He had to leave, now. He was in danger, he could feel it deep down in his bones. He was in danger and he wasn’t in his suit, fuck, where the hell was his suit? Tony scrambled for the exit, startling the patrons of the bar. Mark 7, gleaming in the Malibu sun, was a sight for sore eyes. The suit parted open for him immediately, engulfing him whole.

“JARVIS, do a full body scan,” he gasped. “Check the heart, check the…check the…is it the brain?”

“No sign of cardiac anomaly or unusual brain activity,” JARVIS replied.

“Poison?”

Sweat beaded at Tony’s temple as his breath came out in uneven huffs. He would have to work on the ventilation system of the suit.

For a terrifying second, JARVIS hesitated to respond before saying, “My diagnosis is that you’ve experienced a severe anxiety attack.”

The words sounded fake to Tony’s ears. Surely, JARVIS was joking? But no, he wouldn’t joke with Tony, at least not about something like this. But him, Tony Stark having an anxiety attack…it was unheard of.

“ _Me_?” he said, his voice sounding incredibly small.

 _Clink clink clink_. “Tony? Come on, man. This isn’t a good look, you gotta open up.”

“Sorry,” Tony heard himself saying. “I gotta split.”

Pushing Rhodey away, Tony activated his thrusters and jetted away from Murray’s.

Tony’s head was reeling. According to JARVIS he had just had an anxiety attack and a severe one at that. But what had set him off? Rhodey…Rhodey had mentioned New York…and then the kid had asked him about the wormhole…

Tony was so lost in thought that he had nearly flew into a billboard, just barely managing to barrel roll away.

He didn’t think New York could have affected him that much. Sure, he had had nightmares, but everyone had the occasional nightmare. That was normal.  ~~Tony didn’t want to think about how he had been having nightmares nearly every night.~~

It’s not like Tony was unfamiliar with anxiety attacks. Hell, he had helped Steve come down from one. But Steve was a soldier who had fought in one of the most brutal wars known to mankind, only to wake up in entirely new century where nearly all of his loved ones were dead. If anyone was going to be having anxiety attacks, it was Steve. And Tony…Tony was a Stark.

Despite being dead for 21 years, Howard’s voice came back to whisper in his ear. “Stark men are made of iron,” Tony muttered to himself.

JARVIS’ voice came through. “Sir…would you like me to contact Captain Rogers? I believe he would be able to help you in your current state.”

“No, J,” Tony said decisively. “He’s busy anyway. I doubt he has any time for me.”

“…Yes, sir.”

He could’ve been imagining it, but JARVIS’ voice sounded tired to his ears.

* * *

Tony spent the rest of the afternoon locked up in his workshop doing what he did best; inventing. And avoiding his problems. But mainly inventing.

He pushed all thoughts of anxiety attacks and New York and aliens from his mind, instead choosing to focus on the ventilation system of all of his suits. He had felt so short of breath in the suit. It was like all of the air in his lungs had been sucked out by some great hulking beast into its own greedy chest. Another idea floated at the edge of his mind as he worked. At Murray’s, Tony had been frozen in time as if someone had put glue down on his chair beforehand. And the suit had been so far away…

So far, the Mark 42 would only come when he made the correct gestures. It was convenient, but if Tony was immobile (which happened far more often than he liked to admit) then the prehensile suit would be useless. Unless the suit could react to his brain waves.

That’s how Tony spent the rest of his afternoon, the incident at Murray’s falling from his mind until all that was left was him and his holograms. Tony didn’t realize he had spent nearly the entire day in his workshop until he got the alarm from JARVIS that Pepper would be coming home soon.

“Already?” he wondered aloud. “I thought she’d be longer.”

“It’s date night, sir,” JARVIS pointed out. “I believe she has to conduct one more meeting for the day.”

“Happy will know for sure,” Tony said and with a wave of his hand, the hologram of Mark 42 he had been working on vanished. “He’s been watching Pepper like a hawk.”

“And what would you like to do for date night, sir?”

Tony whipped out his phone and said, “I’m thinking tonight’s a classic night. You know, wine, candles, home cooked dinner, that sorta thing.”

“Hopefully Ms. Potts won’t suffer from food poisoning.”

Mocking outrage, he said, “Excuse you! I’ve been getting much better in the kitchen. None of my food is undercooked now.”

“That’s because you burn it, sir.”

Before Tony could snap something back, JARVIS had called Happy for him. “I’ll deal with you later,” Tony said.

“Sure, you will, sir.”

When Happy answered the video call, Tony was greeted to the sight of Happy’s entire forehead, bringing a smile to his face. Happy could be such an old man with technology sometimes.

“Hello?” Tony heard, rather than saw Happy speak.

“Is this Forehead of Security?” Tony asked, wandering down to his cellar as he spoke.

“What?” Happy asked. “You know, look, I have a real job, Tony. I’m working, I got something going on here.”

Tony paused to survey a Pinot Noir. It’d pair well with fish, especially salmon. Tony could make fish. He hoped. “What? Harassing interns?”

“Let me tell you something, you know what happened when I told people I was Iron Man’s body guard? They would laugh in my face.”

Tony chuckled. He knew keeping himself out of trouble was about as easy as wrangling cats.

“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. I had to leave while I still had a shred of dignity. Now I got a real job, I’m watching Pepper.”

“What’s going on? Fill me in,” he said, picking up the bottle of Pinot Noir. Tony’s eyes read the label quickly; it had notes of blackberry, raspberry and was that—he squinted—that was strawberry. As in the one berry Pepper was severely allergic to. Date night was already off to a _great_ start.

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright so she’s meeting up with this scientist. Rich guy, handsome.”

“Right,” Tony said, unbothered. He trusted Pepper. Even before they had officially started dating, it wasn’t unusual for either of them to rub elbows with the rich and the beautiful for business.

Happy continued. “I couldn’t make his face at first, right? You know I’m good with faces.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Tony said and place the bottle of Pinot Noir back in it’s slot. Maybe a white wine would be better?

“Yeah. Well, so I run his credentials, I make him; Aldrich Killian. We actually met the guy back in…where were we in ‘99? The science conference?

“Uh, Switzerland?”

“Right, right, exactly,” Happy said.

“Killian,” Tony said. Aldrich Killian. The name sounded annoyingly familiar but it seemed like the harder Tony tried to remember him, the more the face seemed to fade from his mind. “No, I don’t remember that guy.”

“Of course you don’t. He’s not a blond with a big rack,” Happy quipped. “At first it was fine, they were talking business, but now it’s like getting weird. He’s showing her a big brain.”

That made Tony pause. “His what?”

“Big brain, and she likes it. Here, let me show you. Hold on. See?” There was a fumbling noise and all Tony could see was…Happy’s forehead.

“Look at what? You watching them? Flip the screen, Hap.”

“I’m not a tech genius like you. Just trust me, get down here.”

“Flip the screen,” Tony said. “Then I can see what they’re doing.”

“I can’t! I don’t know how to flip the screen! And don’t talk to me like that anymore. You’re not my boss.”

Happy, Tony decided, was a lost cause. Taking matters into his own hands, Tony pulled up a web page on his phone. With one hand, Tony typed in the name “Aldrich Killian”. Hundreds of news articles popped up instantly. As Tony scrolled, he picked up bits and pieces of info here and there.

Aldrich Killian was the founder and CEO of Advanced Idea Mechanics or AIM, a scientific research and development organization. And, as Tony zoomed in on a picture of him, was very handsome. His face was long and square, but not overly so, avoiding the horse-like look less than fortunate people with long faces had. His dirty blond hair was long but neat, a single strand falling into his clear blue eyes. He was smiling in the picture but something about it didn’t sit right with Tony. His smile…it didn’t reach his eyes. Tony didn’t fault the man, though. Tony’s own smiles never seemed to feel real in photographs either.

“Alright, I don’t work for you. Now, I don’t trust this guy. He’s got another guy with him, he’s shifty,” Happy said, his voice cutting into Tony’s perusal of Killian.

“Relax, Happy,” Tony said.

“Seriously,” Happy said, eyebrows raised.

“I’m just asking you to secure the perimeter. Tell them to go out for a drink or something.”

“You know what?” Happy started. “You should take more of an interest in what’s going on here. This woman…this woman’s the best thing that ever happened to you, and you…you’re just ignoring her.”

Tony wasn’t…he wasn’t _ignoring_ Pepper. Was he? He’d been trying, _really_ trying, to make things work ever since they made the move together into his Malibu mansion. For crying out loud, they had date nights. Ten years ago if someone had told Tony that he would be in a healthy, monogamous relationship going on a year he would’ve laughed in their face and asked if he could have some of whatever they were drinking.

“A giant brain?” Tony asked, slightly more worried now.

“Yeah, there’s a giant brain, there’s a shifty character.” Happy shifted in his seat. “I’m gonna follow this guy. I’m gonna run his plates and if it gets rough, so be it.”

Tony missed Happy. His missed his tough, no nonsense (okay, maybe a _little_ nonsense. Whenever Happy was with Tony anything could happen.) attitude and his overprotective streak that was a mile wide.

“I miss you, Happy,” Tony said, voicing his thoughts.

“Yeah, I miss you too,” Happy grumbled. “But the way it used to be. Now you’re off with the ‘superfriends.’”

Superfriends. Is that what people were calling them? Colleagues, sure. Teammates, definitely. But friends…friends was a whole other ball park. Tony had thought for a minute that maybe something had been building between the six of them. But then life had gotten in the way. It always did.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you anymore,” Happy said. “The world’s getting weird.”

Tony settled on a bottle of Chardonnay. Chardonnay and salmon would be perfect for date night. And although Tony would die before he’d ever admit it out loud, hopefully they’d have some cuddling time on the couch.

“Hey, I’d hate to cut you off. Do you have your taser on you?”

“Why?”

“I think there’s a girl in HR who’s trying to steal some printer ink, you should probably go over there and zap her.” And with that, Tony put his phone in the wine fridge, effectively ending the conversation. Was it a little mean, maybe, but Happy could handle it. He’d been putting up with Tony’s bullshit for years.

* * *

Pepper was late. Which was fine, totally fine. Tony knew she was a very busy woman, CEO of a Fortune 500 company and…hopefully not oohing and ahhing over Aldrich Killian’s ginormous brain.

Tony wasn’t worried. Really. The giant bunny waiting in the roundabout for Pepper wasn’t an impulse buy and actually something he’d had in the works for a while. And he had managed to make dinner without burning himself or the house down, and the salmon had ended up being pretty damn delicious if he did say so himself. Now, he was just burning off restless energy in the workshop. Mark 42 was upstairs with Tony remote piloting the suit. This way he could still be a good boyfriend (and host) to Pepper while also getting in a nice workout.

Through the headset, Tony could hear the distinct click of Pepper’s heels against his granite floors. “I’m sorry I was late,” she was saying. “I was—what the hell is that?”

That…wasn’t the reaction he had been hoping for but he supposed it must have been shocking to come home from a long day of work to what was basically a robot sitting on your couch.

“What, you don’t like it?” He said. He tried to hide the strain in his voice as he pulled himself up on the pull up bar.

“You’re wearing this in the house now?” She asked, walking closer to the suit. “What is that, like Mark 15?”

Tony winced. He had made Mark 15 about three months ago. “Um…yeah. Sure. You know everyone needs a hobby, Pep. Even geniuses.”

Pepper rolled her eyes good naturedly. “And you have to wear yours in the living room?” She teased.

Mark 42 rose from the couch and clanked towards her. “Just breakin’ it in. You know, it’s always a little pinchy in the gooey bag at first.”

Pepper let out a laugh that had Tony’s heart racing. “No, I wouldn’t know.”

“I could always make you a suit, you know. All you’d have to do is ask. You, me and Rhodey, we’d be…the Iron Trio.”

Pepper arched a brow. “The Iron Trio?” She repeated.

“Iron Family? Team Iron? Iron Squad? Are any of those a yes?”

“Hard pass,” Pepper said. “I love you and I love the suit but I think it’s best if I stay out of one.”

Mark 42 shrugged. “It could’ve been a cool Christmas present. Also, speaking of Christmas presents, did you see yours?”

Pepper tried (and failed) to hide her grimace. “I did see it. It…was extremely hard not to. Question, how is it going to fit through the door?” she asked, pointing at said entry way.

“That’s a, uh, very good question. I got a team of guys though, who’re going to come in tomorrow and blow out that wall.”

“Okay,” Pepper said, taking a seat in an armchair and began to unbuckle her heels.

“You seem tense,” Tony said, walking Mark 42 behind the arm chair. A strong sense of pride overcame him as Pepper leaned back into the suit’s embrace with a blissful sigh as it started to massage her shoulders. His suits had come so far. The fact that he had enough control over Mark 42 to be gentle with the human body while he wasn’t even in the suit made him want to set off fireworks.

“I don’t want to harp on this…but did you like the custom rabbit?”

“Did I like it,” Pepper repeated.

“Nailed it, right?”

“I,” Pepper began turning around in the armchair to face the suit, “appreciated the thought very much.” She rose from the armchair gracefully, hands teasingly sliding up the torso of the suit. Even outside of it, Tony was having a hard time catching his breath. How could he be so lucky? “So why don’t you lift up that face mask and give me a kiss?”

That wouldn’t do. Tony, while working out, had already come out with three new ideas to improve Mark 42 and if he stopped now, he’d lose all his progress.

Mark 42 knocked on the helmet. “Aw, damn it, no can do. You wanna just kiss it on the…”

“Hmm?”

“The face slit?”

“Well, why don’t I run to the garage and see if I can’t find a crowbar to shimmy that thing open?” Pepper grinned wickedly before sauntering over to the stairs leading down to the workshop.

“Oh, except there’s been a…uh…a radiation leak.”

Pepper looked over her shoulder at the suit, her strawberry blonde hair swishing with the movement, and winked. “I’ll take my chances.”

“That’s risky.”

Pepper marched down the stairs, Mark 42 close behind her.

“At least let me get you like a hazmat suit or a Geiger counter or something,” he said desperately.

Tony dropped down from the pull up bar. “Busted,” he muttered to himself.

“This is a new level of lame,” Pepper said and—oh no. Her hands were on her hips. She was mad. She was really mad.

“Sorry,” Tony said unhelpfully.

DUM-E, bless his little robot soul, tried to help by distracting Pepper with dinner but that only served to exacerbate things.

“You ate without me? On date night?”

Tony pointed at Mark 42, “He was just—”

“You mean you?”

“Well,” Tony rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. We were just, uh, we were just hosting you while I finished up some work.”

Pepper was unimpressed. “Sure.”

“And I may or may not have had a quick bite…I didn’t know if you were coming home or if you were having drinks with Aldrich Killian.”

Pepper blinked owlishly. “What?”

“What?” Tony said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Aldrich Killian? Are you _spying_ on me, now?”

“Happy was concerned,” Tony said.

“No,” Pepper jabbed a finger in his direction. “You’re spying on me.”

“I wasn’t—”

Shaking her head, Pepper said, “I’m going to bed.”

“Pepper. Pepper, wait!”

Pepper continued her trek towards the stairs.

“I admit it. My fault,” He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m sorry.”

Pepper stopped and turned to look at him.

Tony sat down on the nearest work bench and let out a deep breath. He was so tired all of sudden, like all of the pent up energy he had had been drained out of him. “I’m a piping hot mess. It’s…it’s been going on for a while, but I haven’t said anything.”

Pepper padded over to him now, concern blooming on her face. The anger was still there, he could see it in her eyes, but at least she was willing to listen.

“Nothing’s been the same since New York,” he admitted. The words had a sense of finality to them. Tony had heard that the first step to getting rid of a problem was admitting you had a problem, but he didn’t feel relief. He just felt exhausted. Exhausted and jittery and terrified.

“Oh, really? Well, I didn’t notice that, at all.”

“You experience things and then they’re over and you still can’t explain them. And that…that bothers me. It bothers me to my very _core_. Gods, aliens, other dimensions. Me? I’m just a man in a can,” he said. It was like now that he had started, he couldn’t be stopped and everything that he had been holding in for the past four months came rushing out of his mouth. “The only reason I haven’t cracked up is probably because we moved in together. Which is great. I love you, I’m lucky. But honey,” Tony took Pepper’s hands in his own. “I can’t sleep. You go to bed, I come down here. I do what I know, I tinker.” Tony paused. “But threat…threat is imminent, and I have to protect the one thing that I can’t live without.” He pointed at Pepper’s heart. “That’s you. And my suits, they’re—”

“Just machines, Tony.”

He shook his head. “They’re not just machines, Pep. They’re a part of me.”

“A distraction,” she said softly.

“Maybe,” he said.

Unwinding her fingers from his, Pepper wrapped her arms around his neck. Her hands carded through his hair, fingers firm but gentle against his scalp. Tony closed his eyes and rested his head against her chest. He breathed in the scent of her perfume—she smelled good, like jasmine and roses—and tried his best to just bask in the moment. A trimmer had come to his hands again. He didn’t know if he was on the edge of an anxiety attack or coming off one.

Pepper removed the headset from his head and tilted his chin up so he could look her in the eyes. She was beautiful from this angle. From all angles. Her hair was up like usual, pretty bangs framing her heart shaped face. Her dark blue eyes were shining with love—that had to be love, there was no other word for the depth of emotion in them—and for a second, Tony felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said.

“Okay,” Tony said.

She pulled away from him. “And you’re gonna join me.”

Tony nodded. “Better.”

* * *

He was running out of time. The others could only hold off the Chitauri for so long before they would eventually be overrun. He felt like Atlas, bearing the weight of the world upon his shoulders as he carried a nuclear warhead powerful enough to level all of Manhattan and then some into the heavens. The air got thinner the higher he climbed but still he pushed on, activating the thrusters hidden in the calves of his suit.

The wormhole looked like the nebulous, gaping maw of some extraterrestrial beast as Tony rushed to greet it. As he passed through the barrier, Tony could hear nothing but deafening silence. But what he saw…what he _saw_ put the fear of God in him. Hundreds of the Chitauri’s strange whale-like creatures that also served as ships moved in a facsimile of gracefulness and beauty, closing in on the portal. They were closing in on him and everything he had ever cared about.

He let go of the nuke, letting it fly in the path towards the largest of the ships. For a terrifying moment, he worried that the nuke would malfunction and the earth would be utterly decimated by the Chitauri. He feared for Pepper and Rhodey and Happy, the three people he knew loved him unconditionally and he did in return. He feared for the other Avengers as well. They had barely gotten to know each other but they fought together like a well oiled machine. Any more time spent with them and Tony wasn’t sure if those four idiots (not including Bruce, of course) were going to worm his way into his heart or make him rip his hair out.

The comms unit on his suit was the first to go, then the thrusters, and finally the HUD. Tony was all alone, flying blind, millions of light-years away from home.

But then the nuke reached the ship. The blast couldn’t be heard in the cold vacuum of space. But it sure as hell could be _felt_. The detonation propelled his suit backwards, his thrusters about as useful as a bonfire would be in Hell. 

As he fell down, down, down, he thought it was funny he could hear someone shouting his voice.

“Tony! Tony! Tony—”

A scream.

Tony’s eyes shot open as he flipped over in his bed. He was sweaty and shaky from the dream but nothing filled him with more terror in that moment than seeing the Mark 42 poised over Pepper, ready to strike. Tony rolled out of the bed, gesturing with his hands and shouted, “Power down.”

Mark 42 slumped over and for good measure, Tony struck the suit in the chest, causing it to fall to pieces.

Pepper was hyperventilating, her hands cradling her head.

“I must have called it in my sleep,” he found himself explaining. “That’s…that’s not supposed to happen. I’ll recalibrate the sensors. Can we just…just let me,” Tony could barely find the words. “Just let me catch my breath, okay?”

Pepper rose from the bed and backed away from him.

Tony froze.

“I’m gonna sleep downstairs,” she replied, her voice like ice. “Tinker with that.”

Tony spent the rest of the night in his bedroom alone with nothing but metal and his mind.

And as if spending the night alone after that god-awful nightmare wasn’t the worst part, in the morning, things weren’t better. Although the sun shone and the birds were chirping, life wasn’t _sweet_. Life wasn’t _kind_. Life wasn’t kind because in the middle of the night, Happy Hogan had been caught in the crossfire of an explosion in the heart of Hollywood. No, life wasn’t sweet, nor was it kind. And Tony had the sick feeling that it wouldn’t be for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I apologize for the long wait but I'm back now, fully comfortable with Tony's POV, and will hopefully get back to my regular posting schedule, God willing. Thank you to everyone who has left and continues to leave such nice comments at the end of each chapter. They truly mean a lot to me. I hope you all enjoyed Tony's POV and that I did my boy justice. You all know the drill! Kudos, comments, and bookmarks aren't required but they're much appreciated. Follow me on [tumblr](https://www.imperialstark.tumblr.com) for more stony/marvel content. See you guys soon and I love you all!


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